Amusing Lies
by Utopia Today
Summary: There’s a fine line between fact and fiction. Over the years the story of Spot Conlon’s life and death was glorified and twisted in such a way that even the few who were really there couldn’t pick out the truth from the amusing lies.
1. Fact and Fiction

There's a fine line between fact and fiction. Over the years the story of Spot Conlon's life and death was glorified and twisted in such a way that even the few who were really there couldn't pick out the truth from the amusing lies.

Often at night he used to dream of his death. Sometimes he was drowned in the river beneath the docks at which he spent his summers. He would wake up with his blanket twisted around him, gasping for breath.

Other times he bled, his life slowly pouring out onto the street. It stained his hands and his clothes, but was gone when he awoke.

So how did he really leave this world? Ask any boy in Brooklyn and he'll tell you that Spot Conlon fell with his head held high, as if he was defying his own death. That's a lie. All of it is a lie.

Spot hated pain. (There actually wasn't much that he didn't hate.) Every scar told a story, but failed to tell the secret ending: he wasn't invincible.

She would trace his scars with her finger as he kissed her, beautiful and naked in the dark. An ugly pink line was drawn from his heart to his liver. It had almost killed him, but only almost. It hadn't been his time yet.

There were others as well: a cigarette burn in the center of his palm, a perfect circle from a bullet in the back of his thigh, and a thin white line under his chin that he'd gotten when he was three years old.

So you want to hear his story? It would be best to start at the beginning.

* * *

Look who's back? It's Tina! Score, my computer is almost fixed. As I get over my Les writer's block, here's the start of some Spot stuff. This started in US History, which might just be the worst class EVER. The PA systems run with the phones, and they were broken, so this high-pitched ringing noise was going on all over the school for an hour...ick. Well, this is that high-pitched noise's child. Maybe more if I decide to update (and get reviews...mmm, reviews) Ta ta!

Tina


	2. You're An Idiot

Maggie Flanagan was just sixteen years young when she met William Conlon, a factory worker from Brooklyn who was two years her senior. Maggie fell in love with his charm. William fell in love with her eyes.

Eyes are funny things. Maggie's were blue and endless, with the sparkle of youth and a bit of mystery. The eyes of her child would be no different.

Sweet William and Maggie were married on a Sunday in a small church in Brooklyn. Seven months later, their first and only son was born in the middle of the night during a full moon. Maggie chose the perfect name for the boy: Spot.

"Maggie, love, it's a name for a dog," William protested with a smile.

"It suits him," she replied with a satisfied look at her son. Spot Conlon was born "Spot Conlon." Don't let anybody tell you otherwise.

His childhood years were happy and bright. Spot had his share of bruises and scrapes, but other than that, the meaning of pain was unknown to him. His parents were both kind, gentle people. His father didn't drink, and his mother wasn't a whore. He spent his days outside in the streets, laughing and running with his endless amount of friends. The entire borough of Brooklyn was his playground, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

Most street kids have a reason for being street kids. For some, their parents kicked them out, and for others, they left by their own volition. Many of these poor souls never knew true happiness. Spot stayed lucky until he was twelve. He sat on the floor, his back against the wall, listening to the conversation behind him.

"They'll evict us."

"William?"

"We can't pay the rent. With the three of us to feed, there's not enough money to give."

"But surely you can ask them to wait just another week!"

"I can't, Maggie. We have to be out by tomorrow morning."

The talking ceased for just a moment. Spot closed his eyes when he heard his mother start to cry. "Where will we go?"

"I don't know, love. I'll think of something."

Spot's mind was racing, trying to put together what he had just heard. _Eviction. Three to feed. Not enough money. _When you're twelve years old, most grown-up situations are too complicated to make rational sense of, so Spot drew his own conclusions on the matter.

Out of love for his parents, he left them that night. It was only fair, considering he was the third and last mouth they had to feed. With him out of the way, they could stay in their apartment and not starve. Sacrifice is a beautiful thing, especially when you don't fully understand what you're giving up.

Spot lived on the street for two weeks that summer. He slept on the sidewalk and ate out of the garbage. To tell the truth, he felt pretty damn good. His father had always told the stories of his years in the worst part of Brooklyn, living on stolen food and bathing only when it rained.

That was one of the only problems: the rain. When Spot saw dark clouds, he found cover. Rain wasn't only cold, but it soaked everything and made his hair fall into his eyes. He would be wet, uncomfortable, and blind until the sun showed up again.

When it began to get cold that year, Spot knew he had to find shelter. By then, he had made a few new friends. Most of them were newsies.

"Like, you mean sell papers?" Spot asked. It was a strange concept for him.

"Yeah," came Ethan Cooke's reply. "It's great. You buy the papes, and then sell them for double what you bought 'em for. And on top of that, you get a place to stay. Well, you gotta pay, but it's still a place to stay, and that's something you ain't got. We're like a big family, but you know, manly and the like. We look out for each other."

"Yeah..." Spot trailed off. Maybe being a newsie wouldn't be so bad for awhile. He could use the cash, anyway. "All right. I'll do it."

Spot's next couple of years were typical for a Brooklyn boy. He woke up every morning at seven, and was finished working by noon. Then his fun began.

He'd do all kinds of things during the day. When it was cold, he'd throw snow at girls and the elderly until he couldn't feel his fingers. When it was hot, he'd swim in the river. Ethan was always by his side; the two were inseparable. They quickly became best friends, and spent the afternoons racing up and down the street near the Brooklyn Newsboys' Lodging House.  
The nights, however, were another thing completely. When Brooklyn gets dark, it _really_ gets dark. The things the Brooklyn newsies did at night would have scared Spot if he hadn't already abandoned fear altogether. After midnight, he played poker and drank himself unconscious. He and Ethan would fight each other as the older boys placed bets.

And the girls...oh, the girls. There were always plenty of them, all wearing short skirts and corsets, with rouge on their cheeks and lips. Spot lost his virginity to a pretty blonde when he was fifteen, but forgot her name by the next morning. He became a slave to lust; he always craved more. Spot began to build himself quite the reputation, but everybody loved and respected him. Spot Conlon was the life of the party.

The last two years of Spot Conlon's short life are the most crucial to his story. Now that I have the prologue out of the way, I can begin to tell his legacy.

* * *

"Ain't fair," Spot panted after being shoved up against a brick wall. "It's three against one." He wasn't stupid; he knew what was going to happen.

"Never said it had to be fair, Conlon." Deuce Ross was one of many angry brothers who were constantly after Spot for getting too close to their sisters. Most of the time, though, angry brothers chased after him alone. This time, Deuce decided to bring along some friends.

"Now what did I say I'd do to you if you began to even _think _of touching my sister again?" Deuce asked as him as he lit a cigarette. Spot didn't answer him. He was paying too much attention to the brass knuckles Charlie Ballard was slipping onto his fingers. The other one, Andrew, sported a frighteningly happy-looking grin. Deuce took a drag and blew the smoke into Spot's face. Spot blinked, and coughed.

"I _asked_," Deuce continued, using his index finger to tip Spot's chin up. "What did I say I'd do to you?"

"You'd break me," Spot muttered.

"Come again? A little louder."

Spot sighed. "You said you'd break me," he growled.

Deuce smiled. "That's right," he said. "And don't think I was lying, either.

He watched as Charlie and Andrew beat Spot bloody. Occasionally he would hold up his hand for them to stop and give Spot the chance to stand up, but other than that, he just sat back and enjoyed the show.

Spot was beginning to get dizzy when he realized that Deuce was crouching down next to him. He picked up Spot's hand and pulled the cigarette out from between his lips. "The next time I see you around my sister, I'll kill you," he said through gritted teeth.

Spot's hand felt like it as on fire, and he screamed. His teeth were digging into his bottom lip to keep himself from crying out again. He tasted more blood. When Deuce let go of his hand, Spot pulled it towards himself and held it to his chest. He looked down and saw a perfect black circle in the middle of his palm. The smell was disgusting.

Deuce dropped the butt of his cigarette and stood up. Without another word, the three of them left Spot alone.

* * *

"You're an idiot," Ethan laughed as Spot walked into the bunkroom. Spot spat towards him and Ethan jumped a little. "Hey, it ain't my fault what happened! You even got a fair warning."

"Just shut up," Spot mumbled as he walked over towards the sink. His left eye was swollen shut, his lips were split in three places, and painful purple bruises had already begun to form on his arms and legs. "I think one of my ribs is broken."

"Wouldn't doubt it." Ethan got up off of his bed and went to Spot. "Deuce Ross, huh? Wow. Too bad all the really good-lookin' girls have bastards for brothers."

"Yeah." Spot looked at himself in the mirror, and winced. He could hardly recognize himself. "I'm gonna kill him."

Ethan laughed. "Yeah, you go right ahead and do that. In the meantime, I'm gonna get some soap." He walked away and eventually came back with the promised soap and a towel. "Might be a good idea to get something to put on where you're bleeding."

Spot held up his left hand. "This, too."

Ethan's eyes widened. "Mother of God, Spot! You look like...like Jesus Christ or something!"

"Hurt like hell."

"Yeah, you'd think so."

As Spot's best friend, it was Ethan's duty to help him get cleaned up and let him sleep in the next morning. When Spot woke up, he was still sore. He also felt strange, but he couldn't exactly put his finger on it. Spot had this tingling feeling in his stomach. He found it hard to breathe.

"Maybe you're bleeding inside, or something," Ethan suggested.

But it wasn't anything like that. I can tell you plain and simple what it was Spot was feeling. He had no idea, but he would see _her_ for the first time that day, and his soul knew it.

* * *

There it is! I wrote this on a three hour car trip to Chicago, where I am right now. Some kind of housewarming party for my aunt, and my entire family's here. There's this really hot guy out there, but the only problem is that he's kinda my cousin...oops.

Review!!

Chelsea--Thanks a bunch! I ususally update, like, four times a week, so there shouldn't be too much of a problem!

Rae Kelly--You're too kind! Thanks

Madison Square--haha, if there are more high-pitched noises, someone's going down. It's strange, I write my best when I'm annoyed at something. In today's case, a car ride.

Bookey--Of COURSE it's going to be a hot story, coz it's SPOT. What more do you want from me?? Ahh US History is the suck. But whatever. And favorites list status is supercool too. You're hardcore!

Sparks--Thanks a ton! KEEP REVIEWING! lol ahh. you rock more!

Lady Rach--you dork. log in! and yes, I am excited that you read the chapter, coz you know that your thoughts keep me going...or something? hmm...


	3. Mizmor L'David

_The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters._

There were few who knew it, but Spot Conlon had been a Catholic since the day he was baptized at six months old. Every Sunday morning you could find him in the sixth pew of the same church where his parents were married; the same church where his mother's funeral was held.

_He restoreth my soul: He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name's sake._

Maggie Conlon lived for twenty-nine years and died for no apparent reason in her sleep. William believed it was heartbreak over the disappearance of her only son, and no person doubted it. Spot attended her funeral. He came late, stood in the back, and left early. Only once did he catch his father's eye, and at that moment his soul screamed: Your fault it's your fault she's dead because of you your fault dead.

_...I will fear no evil._

Spot grew up that day. Take any mother away from the child and the child is forced to adapt. He realized this when, in a fit of rage, he punched out a window with his bare fist. His knuckles and wrist bled; tiny shards of beautiful glass stuck in his skin. As he looked down at the mess, his thoughts hit him like a slap in the face.

I'm only mortal. Nobody lives forever.

You've got about forty more years, Conlon. Quit the crying and grow up.

So he did.

_Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever._

"Amen."

* * *

Ethan had been looking for his alter ego all morning, so when Spot showed up at their usual selling corner Ethan was taken aback. "Where have you been?" he asked Spot, who looked like he'd been hit by a train. He was turning heads. "I thought you'd skipped town or something." 

"It's Sunday," Spot replied. His left eye was useless, swollen, and sore. "Sabbath. I don't sell." He paused to lick his lips, which still tasted like blood. "You know that."

"Oh yeah..." Ethan kicked the ground. "Sunday. Right. Mass. Well, I could never go with you. I don't speak Latin." He sold a paper.

"Me neither," said Spot. "But it ain't about the words, Cooke—"

"Don't even start, Spot."

For an atheist, Spot found Ethan to be a pretty good guy. Except for the occasional disagreement, the pair got along perfectly. If they didn't look so different, one would think they were brothers. A mess of blonde curls and those damn adorable freckles made Ethan quite the target for the more promiscuous women in Brooklyn, but he didn't complain, of course. He never complained. Damn loyal, like a dog, he was. Ethan never had a problem being second to his best friend, mainly because he knew his place.

By noon, Ethan was finished with his relatively small stack of papers, and the pair was on their way to lunch. "Any preference?" Ethan asked Spot, who shook his head. "You're pretty damn quiet today. What's on your mind?"

Spot shrugged. "I just feel kinda funny is all," he said.

"Right, you told me this morning. You think you're sick?"

"It ain't a sick kind of feeling. It's like...something's gonna happen today. I can feel it."

Ethan thought for a moment. "You think this is the day you'll die?"

Spot laughed. "Nah," he said. "But if it is, I leave everything to you."

"Hey, hey, I don't want everything!" Ethan protested, and he laughed. "You can shove Brooklyn on somebody else. I wouldn't take it if you paid me." Spot raised an eyebrow. "Well..._maybe_ if you paid me..."

They turned the corner onto Bridge Street, and at that moment, so did she.

Kate Fox was wasn't anything special to anyone. She was a mistake, actually. Her parents didn't intend to have children, so they gave her up. If there's one thing that can make a child feel unloved, that was it.

Their paths were never supposed to cross, but they did. Not only did their paths cross, but they downright smashed into each other.

Spot's shoulder hit her jaw, which caused Kate's head to twist and pop him in the nose. He recoiled and instinctively put his hand up to where her head had collided with his face.

"I am _so_ sorry!" Kate apologized, putting her hands out like people do when they're concerned and afraid of a reaction. "Jesus...I'm sorry! Are you all right?" Spot pulled his hand away and took a good look at her. To his dying day, he never knew why he said what he did. It just came out that way.

"I'm going to marry you some day."

Kate blinked. "Excuse me?"

Ethan laughed. "What?"

Spot was thoroughly embarrassed. "I, uh...never mind." He turned to Ethan. "Is my nose bleeding? ...Stop grinning." Ethan tried, and failed miserably, so he just shook his head.

Kate cleared her throat. "Listen, I'm sorry I ran into you. You look, well, terrible." Spot's shoulders dropped and he gave her a look. "Well, you do. If you'll excuse me..."

She walked between Ethan and Spot, and neither of them stopped her. They both continued to walk.

Spot was troubled. "Have we met her before?" he asked.

Ethan shook his head. "Not that I remember."

"She seemed familiar."

"No, she didn't."

They didn't speak about it for the rest of the day, but Spot was convinced that he'd met that girl sometime before they ran into each other. He had a strong feeling that this was going to bother him for a pretty damn long time, and he was right.

* * *

Ah, Psalm 23. How could I not put it in here somewhere? Thanks a TON to my review crew--you guys make me so incredibly happy! Click that little button down there and give me a smile! 

Lady Rach--You know it! You logging in equals updates from me. It's a cycle, you see. And stuff.

Chelsea--Any review is a good review! Haha, you're the coolest!

Sparks--I agree that Spot is QUITE attractive. If he was a real person, I think you and I would hunt him down and keep him in a box somewhere. I donno...just a hunch.

Bookey--Your long reviews make my insides go "YESSSSSSSSSS"...and that's a good thing! Your mom rocks. So does balanced!Spot.

Rae--Thanks! I promise to keep up my good work of writing if YOU promise to keep up the good work of reviewing! HA! I win!

Eponine--That was my favorite line too! I think it's funny when people try to find out reasons for the nickname "Spot", because it's just so ridiculous. I just HAD to make it his actual first name.

Raeghann--every time I type out your name, I spell it wrong. Not kidding. Every. Time. Anyways! Les is coming along slowly but surely! Every time I write in my little black book, I hate what turns out. So I have, like, five versions of the next chapter, and then one of them all spliced together...meh. It'll happen someday!


	4. Morbid Nights

His dreams were always very real. Often he forgot that what he was experiencing wasn't real, but rather only a very elaborate and convincing lie told to him by his subconscious. This night in particular, Spot was dreaming—once again—of his death.

He would never admit it, but his death absolutely terrified him. It wasn't fear of the afterlife, but fear of the pain. Spot could handle the dull, sore feeling of a bruise or a cut, but bruises and cuts couldn't kill you. He dreaded the burning, agonizing pain of broken flesh, caused by bullets or knives. He didn't even want to think about the feeling of not being able to breathe: the pressure on your chest and the way your head felt like it would explode right between your ears.

Spot had no idea what had caused this sudden wave of morbid nights. There was no way for him to know that he was telling himself he only had two years left.

Hurry up and save your soul.

Sunday night's dream began like any other night in Spot's life. He walked alone with his hands in his coat pockets. It had been snowing for some time, and a clean sheet of white covered the streets and rooftops. Spot's breath left his body in quickly disappearing clouds.

He suddenly stopped walking. The eerie feeling of being followed washed over him from his chest all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes. He turned around and saw no one. After a few moments, Spot turned back around and continued to walk.

Now he heard footsteps, but he didn't look back to see who it was that was following him. The footsteps quickened and came closer. Just as his follower was almost on top of him, Spot turned and found himself face to face with his best friend.

He sighed heavily and grinned. "Christ, Ethan, what are you doing following me?" Ethan said nothing, and he wasn't smiling. Spot's grin vanished. "Ethan?"

He didn't know what happened until his knees buckled and he hit the ground. Spot looked up and his thoughts were confirmed: Ethan had shot him. Blood ran through his fingers, which were clutching the place on his stomach where the bullet had passed through him. He was so confused. "Ethan?"

There was another shot, and he was dead. Well, he actually only woke up. Spot's hand was pressed over his abdomen, where the bullet had gone through.

No, the bullet never even existed. _You idiot._

It was around six in the morning. During the night, Spot had kicked off both his pillow and his blanket, and now he was freezing. Some intelligent person felt it was a good idea to leave a window open in the middle of November.

Our hero inhaled sharply as his feet touched icy floorboards. Quietly, he made his way over to the open window. Before he shut it, though, he stared outside. It was amazing how quiet Brooklyn seemed in the early hours. For a place so full of life and energy, _any _quiet was amazing.

Spot continued to stare out the open window, despite the fact that his toes would soon turn to ice and his ears were beginning to tingle. He closed his eyes and let his mind wander.

He thought first of his dream. Where had that _come_ from? Ethan wasn't a traitor or a murderer, so why did Spot dream of being killed by him?

A slight tremble took over Spot for just a moment. "What's wrong with you, Conlon?" he whispered to himself. _You're falling apart._

He opened his eyes. It would still be long before the sun rose in Brooklyn, and he knew he would never be able to fall back asleep. Finally Spot shut the window. Almost immediately, he felt significantly warmer.

With nothing else to do for another hour or so, Spot climbed back into bed and pulled the covers over his head. As tired as he was, sleep would be impossible. Even so, he let his eyes close and waited for what wouldn't come.

* * *

Katherine Rose Fox was your average, every-day sixteen year-old nothing to whom love was a foreign concept. All of her days were exactly like the last: wake up, work, eat, work, sleep. There was never any change or difference, but Kate couldn't complain. 

She lived in a cheap inn, right smack dab in the heart of Brooklyn. Her room was tiny; she had a bed and a mirror for a nickel and two pennies per night. So far, she'd spent $1.80.

A physical description of Kate is probably necessary. I'll tell you right now, she was not beautiful, but rather plain. She was very thin and short (a little taller than five feet) with a small nose and big open eyes. Her complexion was pale even during the summertime, and exactly fifteen dark freckles dotted the space under those huge dark eyes and the bridge of her nose. Kate was nothing to write home about, but she had a good heart.

Spot Conlon knew nothing about her, except for that he felt he'd seen her before. Kate was just the same, and she really didn't mind that at all. She had no time for relationships of any sort, be they romantic or social. She did, however, have a few acquaintances from the factory at which she worked, but no real friends. It was all quite sad, really.

Boy and girl didn't see each other for another six months. Winter came and went, sickness swept over them, and New York City was just beginning to welcome summer with open arms.

Their meeting was very brief at first. The blue of Spot's eyes caught the brown of Kate's, and then it was over. She noticed he was carrying newspapers. He noticed _her_, and instinctively changed his path and followed the mysterious girl.

A name was all he wanted; two words which had been whispered to him in dreams, but that he could never hear.

* * *

Short chapter with a very anti-climactic ending, I know! I have to leave for work quite soon, so I'm hoping to see tons of reviews when I come home! (hint...hint...)

Rae—You totally reminded me of that one quote, "You may have won the battle, but you will never win the war." I think it was on Power Rangers at one point or another, but I can never be too certain...

Lady Rach—Cross country totally sucks! I was on the team for about five minutes before I couldn't handle any more (which tells you a lot about motivation and me). Your puppy dog face has totally moved me to update, so REVIEW...AHHH.

Raeghann—Thanks for the supercool advice. I went back and looked at everything I had for ch. 13 of Les and just kinda set it off to the side and started over, and I think I might have something. We'll see! I might even start the entire thing over and put it in the third person, coz I definitely thing I write better in 3rd than I do in 1st. Whatever!

Sparks—The only problem with Spot-In-A-Box is that we'd probably argue who go to have him first. I might win, just coz I'm that cool (HA!), but you never know!

Lil ms kp—Thanks! Keep reading!

Medea—Aw, your compliments make me so incredibly warm and fuzzy...lol.

Madison Square—As much as you wish it so, Spot does NOT equal Jesus! Haha! You're hilarious. Although, that would make church much more interesting if he was...

Chelsea—LOOK! A long review! You're the COOLEST! I never study—EVER. Not even joking. I get good enough grades, though, so it all works out. Have fun with that chemistry!...?

Adri—Thanks a bunch! The deal is that I'll always update if you review! Haha, but seriously, thanks!


	5. Be A Man, Conlon

As he glanced down at her, she smiled and sighed. "I love you, Spot Conlon," she said with a blissful tone.

"And I love you," he replied to her. With surprising accuracy, he took her into his arms and passionately kissed her. The girl's knees buckled and she felt her entire body melt into him.

"I'm so glad we ran into each other," she whispered as his lips left hers.

And that is how their life began together.

At least, that's how Spot imagined it should happen. Men can be incredibly stupid sometimes.

In reality, Kate and Spot's second meeting was nothing glamorous or romantic. It was actually surprisingly short. Spot had turned himself around and followed the girl who had plagued his nights for six months. He didn't understand any of this. He had never met her and she wasn't very pretty, but he was absolutely infatuated with this girl. He hadn't even thought of setting eyes on anything beautiful since he first ran into her.

Ethan didn't understand it. "We're gonna have to commit you," he had said, shaking his head. Plenty of parties and nights out had resulted in Spot going back to the lodge and lying on the cold concrete of the roof, smoking a cigarette and wishing for something more. These nights resulted in too much thinking on his part.

Spot's pattern of thought would jump all over the place, from her to love to life to her to girls to her and make complete circles in that fashion. He would think off topic but always come back to where he had started in the first place. How much longer would he have to wait before he saw her again?

Finally it happened, and Spot wasted no time in talking to her. "What's your name?" he asked her bluntly.

"Who wants to know?" she asked in reply.

"Spot Conlon."

"Kate Fox."

Spot stopped walking for only a moment and lost her. However, if he had to give up six months without her to get eight seconds to talk with her, then so be it. He was content.

Suddenly, all concern for Spot's well being disappeared. He was back to his original self again--quick-talking, drinking, laughing, mischievous Spot Conlon. All thoughts about Kate stayed in the back of his mind, and would only creep out when everyone else was asleep. He had tried to convince himself that he was over this whole "Kate phase", but deep down he knew that would be a lie. The metaphorical thread by which Spot was pulled through life was being yanked towards Kate, and there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it. So how could he cope?

_Find her. Find her and talk to her. Get to know her and prove it to yourself that she means nothing to you and she never will._

But Spot had no idea how to find one girl in a city full of thousands of people. His plan? Wait for fate to push itself in to the situation once again. After a few weeks and no sign of Kate anywhere, he eventually began to forget about her and entertain new fancies.

Spot had almost forgotten how lively the women of Brooklyn were. Their long hair and perfect curves, the way their skin felt next to his, how many times he could have them and still crave more. The girls he couldn't have were the ones he lusted after the strongest, and Emma Ross was by far the most dangerous of that sort.

Emma was blonde, smart, and the best damn kisser Spot had ever come across. He had her up against a wall, and she ran her hands down his chest as he pressed his face to hers.

"You know my brother doesn't like you," she said between heated kisses. "He downright hates you."  
"I know."

"He'll kill you."

"No he won't."

Emma grabbed Spot's left hand and pressed her thumb against the middle of his palm, right on the smooth, pink scar tissue that had formed after angry heat burned his flesh. "Yes, he will," she replied, placing a trail of kisses up his neck. "Deuce doesn't want you to touch me."

"Too late, then, huh?"

Three weeks later Emma realized she was with child, and mistakenly told Deuce that it was Spot's fault. Ethan Cooke returned from selling papers with a black eye on more than one occasion, and after little debate with himself, gave Spot a severe beating.

"I hate you," Ethan spat. "Go tell that ass to get the hell away from me. He's just gonna keep on going after me until you confront him. Take some damn responsibility."

"I'm as good as dead," Spot said half to himself as he pressed a cold, wet cloth to the places on his face where Ethan had hit him.

"Damn right you are," Ethan replied. "Be a man, Conlon."

So Spot took his friend's advice and sought out Deuce Ross. It wasn't long before he found him, along with the Ballard twins and their younger brother, Ace. All four boys stared at Spot, and Deuce stepped forward. He said nothing. Did he even need to?

Spot didn't remember too much about that day. Shortly after Deuce pulled a knife, Spot found himself falling into unconsciousness. Had Ethan not followed him, he would have been dead.

* * *

Just a quick chapter to keep myself busy. Hopefully in the future these will be longer...I'm really tired. Excuse typos and grammatical incorrectness, I didn't really proofread this carefully.

Rae—Psh, longer chapters? Me? Whateva! You should know by now that I am incredibly lazy and short chapters are practically my trademark!

Lady Rach—Your animal eyes are just about as ferocious as something incredibly non-ferocious. ...But I still totally love you!

Adri—You are just too kind! Work really sucks...I work at Marshall Fields, and if you don't have one, it's just a big department store where I have to stand on my feet for hours and hours and try to sell some housewares...doesn't usually work too well!

Chelsea—Wow. That is the longest. Review. EVER. Ahh! Haha, I let out a little squeal when I read it. THAT's how incredibly excited I was! As for the plot: I don't really know where it's going to exactly, but I _do_ know how Spot dies and who kills him. I've already written the last chapter, and I'm doing everything in my power not to just post it and end the story right now! GAH! But anyways, you're the best. Your reviews just make me smile!

Sparks—I don't think Ethan would actually kill Spot, but he _would_ totally kick his ass. I think you and I should flip a coin on this whole Spot thing, coz I'm weak too. Love97—Thanks a ton! It always makes me super happy when people review whom I've never heard from before. Keep reading and reviewing! 

Rede—Thanks bunches!

Raeghann—First person, whatever. Third person could totally kick first person's ass if it wasn't so lazy.

Southern Spell—Thanks!

Buttons—Well, look who it is! I was wondering when you were gonna show up! It's great when you read my stuff, because I know you'll review honestly, and that's always really awesome.

It's time for me to sleep before I just die right here and now. BAH. It's not even late! Grr...


	6. A Peculiar Thing

Spot was living in a dream. Not asleep yet not awake, he relived the past while his friends desperately tried to keep him alive.

He was three years old, running and laughing. His father was playfully chasing him around their tiny apartment. Young Spot lost his footing for only a moment and fell. His chin hit the foot of the bed. Tears began to mix with the blood that was staining his shirt, blood that wouldn't stop flowing. Spot's vision was covered with blood.

Now he was suddenly alone and surrounded by white. His eyes scanned this new setting slowly.

"You were supposed to die today."

Spot turned. He was face to face with a young man, about his age with dark skin, dressed completely in white. "So why didn't I?" Spot asked him.

The man didn't answer him directly. "Man's life is short," he said. "everything is mapped out perfectly. Your life is on a tight schedule; every moment of your being has already been carefully planned to fit into the lives of those around you."

"What are you trying to say?" Spot was thorougly confused.

"There was a mistake in your schedule," the man repolied. "The fact that you met Katherine Fox wasn't properly taken into acount. The way it was supposed to work out was that you were to live wiithout her and be killed by Joshua Ross."

"Deuce."

"Yes. But you took it upon yourself to fall in love with Kate, which is on her schedule."

"I'm not in love."

The young man smiled. "Yes, you are," he said, and left it at that.

Spot paced a little. "So what now?" he asked.

"You have a choice. Either you stay dead and change Kate Fox's fate, or change your own and live."

"What's the better choice?"

"I can't say."

"But you know."

"Yes." He paused. "Life is a very peculiar thing. Men think they can choose their destiny, but in truth, everything is already planned out for them. All they have to do is live their assigned path, nothing more. You, however, hace a choice. It's a very rare thing."

Spot looked up. "Does she love me? Kate?" The man didn't answer. Spot sighed. His decision was already made. "I want to live," he said.

"So be it."

His eyes snapped open, and he felt immediate pain. "Spot!" He coughed up blood. "You're alive!" Spot couldn't speak. Ethan laughed. "I can't believe it!"

Spot was surrounded by boys, his boys. His chest and stomach were eerily cold. Something felt wet. "Somebody get some booze," Ethan ordered. "He's gonna wanna be drunk for this one."

They didn't even have to get any alcohol. The shock of pain and sudden life had put Spot out cold again.

There he saw her, as plain and normal as she was. There was something about Kate Fox that pulled Spot towards her. He didn't ask any more questions. His fate was clear: Spot was born to love this woman.

Again his eyes opened, but he was nearly alone this time. Ethan sat in a chair next to spot's bed. He straightened when he saw that Spot was awake. "Hey."

Spot managed a weak "hey." He didn't know how badly he had been hurt, but he felt like his entire body was angry at him.

"You're lucky to be alive," Ethan said to him. Spot didn't even need to ask how he got there. Ethan was one step ahead of him. "I followed you out when you left, 'cause I knew if was a stupid idea for you to go alone, and, well, I felt bad." Spot noticed that Ethan's shirt was ripped. "How much do you remember?"

"Nothing," Spot croaked.

Ethan nodded. "Well, you lost that one, that's for sure. I convinced Deuce not to kill you--"

"How?"

Ethan couldn't look at Spot. "I begged him." Spot closed his eyes. Brooklyn boys never give up their dignity. Ethan changed the subject. "You lost a lot of blood. You could still die, Spot."

"I won't."

His best friend nodded. "Get some rest. I'll be back in a few minutes." He left Spot alone.

Waiting outside the bunkroom was Michael Parker. "He all right?" he asked Ethan, who nodded. "Listen, Cooke." His voice softened. "I've been meaning to tell you for awhile now. I don't think Spot can handle all of this anymore."

"Why do you say that?" It was Ethan's duty to defend Spot, but he too felt that Spot was losing his touch.

"He's getting old, anyway. He just ain't the same, you know?" Michael bit the inside of his lip and lowered his voice even more. "We've all been talking. We want you to take Brooklyn."

Ethan shook his head. "Out of the question."

"No it ain't. You don't have to do nothin' but be there when things change. We'll take care of Conlon."

Ethan was not a traitor. "I can't, Michael."

Parker sighed. "Then you better watch your back, Cooke."

.......

No time for any SO's, I gotta work! HUGE thanks to my review crew!


	7. Every Mother's Son

The morning of June fifth was a humid one. A hint of sun was just beginning to break through early clouds as a long-lost figure stood directly in front of the Brooklyn Lodging House with a change of clothes in his right hand and a canvas bag thrown over his shoulder. As he stared up at the building that was once his home, he lightly bit the corner of his bottom lip. His clothes were like that of the more fortunate among Brooklyn's population: a black suit covered him—fitted to his exact measurements—with a gold embroidered logo under his left collarbone. The suit was completed with a black tie and crisp white shirt.

Damn his parents! Damn them and their ideas of education.

But all thoughts of bitterness were far from his mind. He was finally home. How could he possibly be angry now?

South Emanuel's father was the president of a highly respected bank in the heart of Manhattan. South's mother was the only daughter of a powerful family of former plantation owners, who had—until quite recently—held their business in South Carolina. Nathan and Sarah Emanuel now lived in Manhattan, along with three daughters (Margaret, Maria, and Susanna) and sometimes one son.

That son preferred the rough life. South (or Nathan Jr., as his parents named him) was constantly outside with his friends and staying weeks at a time in Brooklyn. Mr. and Mrs. Emanuel didn't seem to mind very much, as long as he regularly attended school. It wasn't until their son was sixteen that they pulled him off of the streets and shipped him out to Boston for boarding school. Seven months later, he was back, and quickly made his way from his parents' home to his in Brooklyn.

Once inside, he made his way upstairs and dropped his belongings on his still-empty bunk. Most of the boys were still sleeping, save one young man who wasn't getting much sleep at all lately.

Ethan Cooke smiled when he saw his friend. "South! We thought you'd skipped town for good!"

South's face broke into a huge grin. "You know you can't get rid of me that easily."

The noise was beginning to wake the rest of the boys, who unwillingly got out of their beds and started to get ready for the day. Ethan and South held up their conversation in the midst of the usual morning chaos. "Where have you been?" Ethan asked.

"Boarding school," South replied to him. "Nate and Sarah thought Boston would do me some good, but I graduated and I'm back and we're going out tonight—you and me and Conlon, every mother's son." He pretended not to notice Ethan's sudden frown and grabbed the canvas bag from his bunk. South pulled out a bottle of whiskey and a few cigars. "Bought with the help of my father's hard-earned money," he explained as he handed them to Ethan. "They know I won't be back home for awhile."

"Don't make them too mad," Ethan warned jokingly. "They'll disown you, and then how will we pay for our laid-back lifestyle?"

"Disown me?" South put his hand to his heart in a mock gesture. "I'm the best son they have!"

"You're their only son."

"Better than those three damn daughters of theirs."

South's sisters, together, were the epitome of what a man desired in a woman. Margaret was just seven years old, but by that time she had already acquired a large vocabulary and was half-fluent in French. Maria was fourteen and spoke only when she was spoken to first, and held true to the ladylike air she showed. Susanna was just eleven months older than South. She was gorgeous, intelligent, and wore a mask of pureness. In truth, however, Susanna had eloped with her much older (and much less acceptable) boyfriend when she was seventeen, and planned on breaking the news to one of her parents once the other one died.

South was growing a bit impatient. "Where's Spot?" he asked. "He move himself to the roof again?" Ethan smiled slightly at the remembrance of two years before, when Spot had dragged a mattress to the top of the lodging house and slept there all summer.

"No," Ethan replied. He kicked the ground. "I actually don't know where he is. He never came home last night."

Spot had left the Brooklyn Lodging House around nine o'clock the night before, and hadn't returned by the time Ethan woke up around two in the morning. He hadn't been able to sleep since, on account of the worry for his friend. "He ain't really been himself lately."

"No kidding?"

Ethan shook his head. "Almost got himself killed, he'll show you the scars. He's got a kid on the way and apparently he's in love, and it ain't with the kid's mother."

South had to laugh. "Well then he's still himself," he said.

"No, he's not." Ethan looked around. "Come upstairs. We gotta talk."

South followed him up to the roof after grabbing two cigars and a box of matches from his bag. He gave one of the cigars to Ethan and kept his own. Ethan stuck the cigar between his lips and struck the match, then lit the cigar. He threw the match to the ground and doused it with his foot.

"So what's going on?" South asked as he lit his own cigar.

"I was debatin' on whether I should tell you or not...it's heavy stuff."

"So tell me."

Ethan inhaled deeply. "You know Michael Parker, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well he came up to me a few weeks ago or so, and he said that the boys were talking and wanna get rid of Spot."

"You mean, get a new leader?"

"Mmhmm."

"But Spot was never officially named boss or anything."

"I know, and that's why they think it's all right. He said they wanted me to take over, and I told him I didn't want any part in it."

"Yeah, good. Does Spot know?"

"Not yet," Ethan said as he shook his head. "Parker sounded pretty threatening...someone might get hurt. I just want to know where you stand."

South's look could have knocked you out cold. "You know where my loyalties lie." _I'd die for either one of you, and you know that._

Ethan nodded. "Good," he said. "Let's find Spot."

* * *

He had to find her. The emptiness in his heart where she should be was driving Spot mad, and he knew what he had to do. A thousand screaming voices in his head pointed him in different directions, and he didn't know where to go next. Unclean, unshaven, and dangerously thin, Spot walked Brooklyn's morning streets. 

He was bound to find Kate Fox sooner or later. Brooklyn was full of people, but it wasn't that huge. Spot's feet cried out in pain. He hadn't been this miserable since...well, he'd never been this miserable.

Spot had no idea his friends were looking for him that morning. All thoughts of Brooklyn (in a newsboy sense) were gone from his mind, and had been replaced by a plain girl he hardly knew. He didn't notice the looks given to him by traitors and mutineers who were waiting for the right moment to strike and take away from Spot what they felt wasn't right for him anymore.

Yes, they planned on killing him, and yes, Ethan too. With regret and a pang of guilt, Michael Parker had signed the contract they'd written up secretly at midnight a week before in the cellar by candlelight.

"Are you sure this is the right thing to do?" one of the younger ones had asked Michael.

"There's no such thing as right and wrong," he had replied in a lie to himself.

Judas.

* * *

Yeah...do I even need to apologize for the tiniest chapter EVER? Haha, it's my nature. I just had to introduce South and get a few things out of the way before the next chapter in which (AHH!) Spot and Kate actually talk. Hooray! I'm excited. I know you are too! 

Quick SOs!

Sparks—No YOU rock!

Chelsea—Ah, Steerpike. He's so amusingly awesome, quite like yourself!

Adri—Haha, gotta love Ethan!

Lil ms kp—More like a combination between God, Death, and Fate…worked nicely, I think!

Lady Rach—I love my characters…Ethan's the coolest, but Parker's gonna be right up there with him soon. You'll see!

MS—Haha, thanks! This is a late update for me…sorry! It was homecoming this week!

Love 97—Hey, you get a camera and we'll make a movie. It'll be so low-quality and awesome. I'm excited!

Crazybutbeautiful—I don't understand C2s…nevertheless, sweet! You're hardcore!

Southern Spell—Thanks a bunch!

Buttons—Again…more like God, Death, and Fate mixed into one person/being/whatever. I don't even know where that came from. We were reading The Scarlet Letter in AP Lit/Comp and that's what happened…I HATE The ScarLetter.

Bookey—HAHA! Best. Review. EVER.


	8. Murderer

When the sun reached it's highest point that day, Spot was still out of luck and alone as he made circles around Brooklyn. His search was pointless and he knew that, but he wasn't going to give up until he found Kate.

Sweat ran down the sides of his face and dripped onto his shirt. He somewhat resembled a madman, and to a certain respect, he was one. Exhausted, overheated, and thirsty, Spot knew he had to rest. He placed himself on the nearest stoop, right next to a tiny-looking thing reading a newspaper.

Spot glanced at the kid for only a moment. "What'cha reading?" he asked tiredly as he laid himself back on the steps.

"New York World," a feminine voice replied from behind the paper.

"You should read The Sun," Spot said to the girl. "Better articles. Newsies who sell it is better, too."

The girl lowered the newspaper. "Thanks for the advice," she said. Spot's heart stopped. Sitting two feet from him was Kate Fox.

A curious look a appeared on her face. "Have we met before?" she asked. "You look awfully familiar."

"Y-yeah," Spot stuttered. "Twice, actually."

"Oh," Kate said. Then her face lit up. "Oh yeah! You're that newsie..."

"Spot Conlon."

"Yeah, Spot Collins, I remember you!"

Spot smiled. He didn't even care that she didn't know his last name. "So what are you doing out around here?" he asked her. All of his nervousness was suddenly swept away. Had we passed them now, we would assume they were best friends, or perhaps lovers.

Kate folder her newspaper. "I was fired from my job," She replied with a deep sigh.

"Fired? Why? From where?"

"Yeah, fired from Holden's Textiles...that big factory, you know? I was late to work too many times."

Spot laughed, which caused Kate to smile. "What's so important that you missed work for it?" he asked her.

"I sleep in a lot."

Spot laughed again. They were perfect for eachother. Kate found herself smiling more than she ever had in the past six months. Spot was just happy to finally have found her.

They spent the rest of the afternoon on that stoop just talking, laughing, letting their souls stretch and make a perfect fit into eachother.

When the sun began to make itself scarce, Spot offered to walk Kate back home. Respectfully, she declined. "Not tonight. Maybe next time."

Spot's hopes soared. "Then I can see you again?"

Kate blushed. "Yes," she said shyly. I think they both knew what they were feeling towards eachother, and neither Kate nor Spot shut those feelings out. They parted ways with stars in their eyes and an air of innocent love lingering behind them.

* * *

As of eight o'clock that evening, Spot still had not returned home. Now missing for 23 hours, Ethan was seriously beginning to worry.

Seven minutes.

"It just ain't like him," Ethan said as he paced the lobby. South was sprawled on the old couch, having a cigarette and staring up at the ceiling. "Even now, it ain't like him."

"Maybe he found a girl," Sough suggested.

Ethan shook his head. "I told you before, he's changed." He bit his lip and stopped pacing. "Ever since Deuce almost killed him, he's been acting funny. Before that, even." Ethan glanced at the stairs. "And I obviously ain't the only one who's noticed."

"You asked him about it at all?"

"No."

"Then maybe you should."

Ethan shook his head. "He's practically my boss. I can't condescend him like that."

With a sigh South put out his cigarette on the old wooden floorboards beneath his hand. "But he's our best friend."

Our_ best friend_. "Maybe when he sees you, South, he'll lighten up a bit."

"God willing." The owner of this new voice appeared at the front doorway, hat in hand. Michael Parker wore a sly smile--a look that spelled uneasiness.

Five minutes.

South sat up and dropped the butt of his dead cigarette. Ethan inhaled deeply. "What do you mean by that?" he asked cooly of Michael, who shrugged.

"Can't I have as much concern for my leader as you?" he replied.

"Cut it, Parker, you son of a bitch," South growled from the couch as he stood.

Michael's hands formed fists. "Insult my mother again, Emanuel," he challenged. "I dare you."

Brooklyn boys were beginning to form clusters around the two quarreling sides. South slowly made his way to the center of the lobby, directly in front of Michael. "Your mother was a whore, a goddamn slut who nobody cared about and didn't stop fuckin' around 'til she had you, you bastard."

Michael returned without changing his expression or missing a beat, "Your ma only stays around for your pop's money, and he still don't see that your sisters look nothin' like him."

South was just about ready to pounce, and Ethan knew that. He grabbed both of South's shoulders from behind. "This ain't the time, South," he said calmly right into his ear. "Let it be."

Nearly all of the Brooklyn newsies were congregated in the lobby to see what was going to go down. Not one boy noticed an enlightened young man slowly make his way into the room. Spot didn't say a word, but rather kept to the back to see for himself what was going on.

"Yeah South, let it be," Michael said with a grin. "Wouldn't want to waste any time, now would we? You're already too busy screwing around with fourteen year-old girls to give any extra time for fighting bad guys."

Every one sensed a pinched nerve. Before Ethan could hold him back, South was charging at Michael, who was quicker and (to the suprise of all) pulled a pistol.

South stopped three feet from Michael, and Ethan was right behind him. Spot took a step forward.

"Where did you get that?" Ethan asked slowly, stepping forward.

Michael didn't answer. The room fell deathly silent. South and Ethan's eyes were both fixed at that loaded pistol, which mockingly winked back at them. Between the two friends stood Death--invisible, blindingly bright, and iminent.

Spot knew what would happen next. "Parker!" he scremed just as Michael pulled the trigger. The noise was louder than any of the boys could have expected. The room was again silent.

Ethan fell. Blood flowed from him as his life began to run out.

Two minutes.

Spot pushed through the boys--some horrified, some numb, some smiling. He knelt next to Ethan; his friend, his brother.

"This is it," Ethan told him.

"Shut up."

"They're going to kill you."

"What?"

"Just watch out, okay?"

"Okay." Spot took Ethan's hand, which was becoming colder every moment. South hadn't laid eyes on his dying friend. He was still in shock.

Michael Parker was a murderer. He still held the moking pistol in his hand. Spot conlon was on the floor, vulnerable as all hell. "Finish it," someone whispered behind MIchael but he refused.

Thirty seconds.

Ethan's lungs filled with blood that flowed out onto his shirt. Spot put his free hand over the wound. The other hand grasped Ethan's, who was fighting back painful tears. South finally brought himself ot look at Ethan. He bit the inside of his lip and took in a deep breath.

The only sounds in the lobby were heavy, ragged breathing and Spot's low voice speaking words meaningless to most in that room.

"Our Father who art in Heaven..."

Twenty seconds.

"Hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven."

Thirteen seconds.

"Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us..."

Seven seconds.

"And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."

Four seconds.

"Amen...Oh God..."

Two.

One.

A final breath escaped Ethan Noah Cooke's lips and his heart stopped. His grip on Spot's hand loosened completely and Spot let go.

The boys who filled the room just minutes earlier began to slowly disperse. Michael Parker put away his gun. Spot looked up at him with a mix of fear, hatred, sadness, and confusion.

"Why...?"

"You'll understand," Michael said simply before leaving Spot and South alone with Ethan's body. Neither boy could speak. There were just no words to say.

* * *

EDIT: 11:12PM CENTRAL TIME--Fixed a bunch of typos. There are probably more, but I'm too lazy to be awesome and fix all of them!

Donno how I feel about this one. This may be gone tomorrow, or I may keep it up. We'll see how things go and how much people review...hint hint...

Oh and before I forget, sorry for typos. Our computer just got fixed and we don't have Word, so I'm using WordPad...ick.

Rae--Mid-terms suck so much! Have fun with all of that...

Lady Rach--I have a feeling Parker's gonna really piss us all off sooner or later.

LTNN--Thanks a bunch! Gahh, keep reviewing!

Buttons--No. The Scarlet Letter is the WORST BOOK EVER OH MY GOD. Never touch it. It will eat your children.

Love--I have no idea! Hmm...But Gabe Damon better bet in our movie or somebody's gonna go crazy, and it might be me!

Adri--haha, cheesy is good. That's how I get by in life!

Sparks--Ahh, you're too nice! maybe I'll give a longer chapter next time!

Bookey--LOOK YOU REVIEWED IN ALL CAPS SO I'LL SHOUT OUT IN ALL CAPS HAHA LOOK AT ME GO!

Madison Square--South IS cool. I think I just fell in love with him.

Elyse--Thankses a bunch!

Chelz--Ahh that was the longest most pointless review EVER. Still loved it though!


	9. Not Tonight, Not Tomorrow

Ethan had been dead for nearly a week. In that time, Spot hadn't said a word to Michael or even looked at him, and South mostly kept to himself and Spot. Tension was beginning to grow between those loyal to Spot and those thirsting for change, and every one could sense it.

On this particular day, South was rummaging through Ethan's small collection of belongings--a few sets of clothing, a broken pocket watch, a cigar box filled with newspaper clippings, two torn photographs of Ethan's mother and siblings, and a canvas bag to hold newspapers--deciding if anything was worth keeping. This is where Michael Parker found him as he was thumbing through the newspaper clippings.

Michael stood before South and shoved his hands in his pockets. With a voice gentle as a whisper, he spoke, "I didn't want to shoot him, South. I respected him."

"Respect has nothing to do with it," South replied lowly. He didn't move from his spot on the floor, and he kept Ethan's belongings around him.

Michael took a moment to think. If any of his words hit a nerve, he was screwed, and he knew that. But what could he say? "I killed your friend, I'm sorry, join our side"? That wouldn't do at all.

He figured it out. "You've been gone for a year, Nathan." South's eyes raised at the mention of his name. No newsie had ever called him by his name. Michael continued, "Men change within a year. 365 days is a long time."

"Just what are you trying to say, Parker?"

"I'm trying to say that Conlon's changed. You've noticed, I know you have. He ain't as...happy as he used to be."

"Parker, the only time I've spoken to Spot at all has been after he witnessed his best friend's murder," South said with a roll of his eyes. "And I'm not about to take your word on things that happened before that." He gathered Ethan's things in a small pile and shoved it under the bed. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go speak with my parents. They're paying for the funeral of a friend of mine." He stared Michael down. "They think he killed himself last week."

South walked past Michael and went for the door, but he was stopped. "I ain't playin' games," Parker told him with a firm grip on his shoulder. "This _will_ go down, and soon. For your sake, Nathan, I hope you stick with the winning side."

Not intimidated and fed up, South grabbed Michael's shirt collar and slammed him up against the wall. "If you don't shut the hell up, I swear to God I'll do something I'll regret. If it wasn't for Spot, I would have taken a lead pipe to your God damned head a week ago." South pulled on his collar and again slammed him to the wall. "Understand? I hate you. One of these days, I _will_ kill you. Mark my words, Michael Parker."

South let go of Michael's shirt and left the bunkroom. Michael straightened his collar and sighed. It was obviously going to take a lot more convincing to get South against Spot, but it could be done.

* * *

"Personally, if I were you, I would have just killed him right then and there." 

"Really?"

"Of course. You said Ethan was like your brother. If anyone killed my brother, I wouldn't hesitate in returning the favor."

Spot had been with Kate every day since Ethan's death, and he grew more and more fond of her with each passing moment. The two sat on the docks in Brooklyn, their faces lit only by the moon's reflection on the still waters of the river.

"So you don't blame me for not turning Parker in to the cops?" Spot asked her.

Kate shook her head. "Not at all," she replied.

"Seems kind of like an injustice to Ethan, telling 'em he killed himself and everything, but it had to be done." Spot stared out at the water. "I'll have revenge. Not tonight, not tomorrow, but someday. That son of a bitch..."

With an understanding smile, Kate swept a lock of hair from Spot's face. "Your profanities sure ain't gonna do anything to help you," she said with a bit of a laugh. She then shifted to get up. "It's getting late; I should get going. I gotta get up early and see if I can find another job."

Spot stopped her. "Hey, Kate?"

"Yeah Spot?"

"I just, uh, get this funny feeling around you," Spot told her awkwardly. "I thought you should know."

Kate laughed loudly. "Funny feelin'?" she repeated. "Like butterflies or something?"

"Somethin' like that."

She stood up and offered Spot her hand. "Well, don't feel too stupid about it, 'cause I know what you mean."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"You too?"

"Uh-huh." Spot hadn't let go of Kate's hand, and she noticed this. "...Spot?"

"Kate, I got so much to tell you. You've been in my dreams for months now, and I've always known you even though we just met a little while ago."

"Spot--"

"No, lemme finish. I almost died, but I knew I had to live 'cause of you. See?" Spot let go of her hand and pulled his shirt off. He took her hand back and touched her fingers to the long pink scar he'd received from Deuce Ross a little while before Ethan's death. Kate's fingertips lightly traced the mark from his heart to below his ribs. "Woulda killed me, but I fought it 'cause I knew I had to...had to..."

"Had to what, Spot?"

"Had to love you." The word sent a jolt through both of their bodies. Kate bit her lip and pulled her hand away from him.

"So you love me, then?" she asked quietly.

Spot nodded. "You've kept me alive. If it weren't for you, this week woulda been Hell."

Kate was beyond surprised. She was downright speechless. "I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll let me love you."

She smiled impulsively. "I'll let you love me," Kate said quietly. "But I have to go." She gave Spot one sweet, short kiss on the cheek before turning and quickly walking off towards home.

Spot felt like God. He knew Ethan was smiling down at him. Life felt so immensely wonderful at that moment, he was certain nothing could possibly go wrong. Spot was incredibly inaccurate, however. He had no idea that his and Kate's actions had been watched, and they were waiting for her as she left him.

* * *

BUM BUM BUUUUM! (cliffhanger!) THERE! Something to keep you all happy while I battle this writer's block! I realized that in killing Ethan, I just majorly screwed my plot. It's a damn good thing I wrote South in, let me tell you! 

Chelsea--I love it how you're always one of the first to review. It makes me all warm and fuzzy inside!

Rede--Thanks so much!

Rae--Have fun with the thesis! While you're conquering that, I'm going to battle to keep my US history grade up.

Mage Ren--Thanks for the review. We still don't have Microsoft Word yet, so I've been double- and triple-proofreading my stuff.

Elyse--Haha! Don't worry, Ethan's death is all for the best!

MS--I think it IS best if we all imagine South as being really attractive. I like to model him on this guy in two of my classes...ahh, so delicious.

KP--I, too, quite enjoy religious!Spot. That's why I write him that way...haha, but anyways. Ethan's dead, we'll all cope and move on!

Lady Rach--I love Anastasia too! And Kate and Spot! The world is just one big ball of CUTE for me right now!

Adri--Here's your update! (A la "here's your knife!"...I love saying things like that.)

Netangel--Thanks! I update when things pop into my head, so...yeah. Keep reviewing!

Sparks--I can't believe you just called Parker a "little shit"! That's AWESOME!

time is a waste of life--Haha, more caps! I love caps! I'M PRETTY COLD TOO, I LOST MY WINTER COAT AND ALL I HAVE IS A SCARF. OH WELL. MAYBE I'LL LIVE.

Buttons--Don't cry! Maybe Ethan will miraculously come back to life and we can all love him (...or not.)

Love--short freckled kid or short lovely Gabe? I pick short lovely Gabe over short freckled kid any day.

LTNN--Haha, thanks!

Irish Lass--Well, I'm not God and I'm not pretty, but thanks so much! Keep reviewing!


	10. October Tuesday

No shoutouts today, but happy christmas! REVIEW!! 

In his mind, 'Tober knew that what he was about to do was wrong. He'd known that even when Michael Parker put the crumpled bills in his hand. His father had told him, "Women, Jim, are God's gift. They are sacred, special. You always gotta treat them with love and take care of 'em. And if you ever hit a woman, boy, you'll go straight to Hell."

'Tober was brought up to respect the weaker sex. If his father knew what he was going to do, he'd be disowned for sure. But his father was dead, and October Tuesday had grown thin. The newspaper business was failing him, and at sixteen, he weighted a dangerous 98 pounds. Three dollars from Parker would let him live for another month or more, if he watched what he spent.

He could see her now, walking down the street towards him. 'Tober gripped his knife with a sweaty palm. The rememberance of his employment came back to him.

"You ever held anyone captive, 'Tober?" Parker had asked him. What a stupid question. He shook his head in reply. "Well, there's a first time for everything, right?"

"I don't understand," 'Tober truthfully told him.

Michael then pulled the money from his picket. "Tell me, right now, if you'll do a job for me. I'll pay you."

"What's the job?"

"Yes or no, Tuesday."

October eyed the pathetic three dollars. "Yes."

Parker smiled and gave him the money. "Good man, 'Tober. I want you to kidnap Kate Fox."

Woman. "No," 'Tober said quickly, handing the bills back. "You know I can't do that. Who…why…but…" He glanced back behind Parker where Higgins (no relation to the gambler) and Torrez stood. Both boys were staring at him, and Torrez was cracking his taped knuckles.  
"I have to do this, don't I?"

"Yep."

"You're gonna hurt me if I don't, aren't you?"

Higgins laughed and Parker just shrugged. "I'm not too fond of broken promises, 'Tober."

October Tuesday, like all men, wished to survive, but an empty stomach and a black eye don't get a man many points in the game of life. 'Tober took the money back from Parker. "Explain the job."

So here he was, mere seconds away from grabbing kate and, using the knife to threaten her, taking her to the tavern on third, where Parker and a few other boys would be waiting. Easy as pie.

Kate didn't scream when she saw 'Tober's knife. She didn't cry when he told her where they were going. She simply asked him why.

"You just got unlucky, I guess," 'Tober replied, and they were off

....... 

"You smell nice," Spot told South when he returned to the lodging house.

South smiled. "Mommy dearest wouldn't let me leave the house until I took a bath. She told me you should stop by and take one too."

"She really said that?"

"Yeah. Margaret offered to cut your hair as well."

"And do I get French lessons from the little one as well?" Spot asked with a laugh.  
"That, and the cook will make you whatever you want, no joke. The Emanuel household loves you, Conlon." And he wasn't kidding, either. Spot Conlon was the favorite in South's house, and his visits were always welcomed warmly and ended with Mr. Emanuel sneaking the boys some cigars or a bottle or two of good wine.

"Don't tell your mother, Nathan, and you boys enjoy," he would say with a wink. Spot missed the Emanuels in the months that South had been at boarding school, but he had a feeling he'd see them soon.

"Are they coming tomorrow?" Spot asked.

South nodded. "Already sent flowers to his sisters." Spot had completely forgotten about Jen and Helen Cooke, Ethan's older sisters.

"Did you—"

"Yeah, I told them."  
"The truth?"

"The truth stays in here, Spot. Ethan killed himself…at least, that's what everyone else is going to believe for now."

"You don't have to stay on my side," Spot blurted out suddenly. "You've got a family and all, and to tell the truth I really don't want to see you dead. This had nothing to do with you."

"Maybe not before, but it does now. Spot, I don't give a damn about Brooklyn politics, but I want justice for Ethan. I don't care what happens as long as Parker and all of those bastards behind him get what they deserve."  
"So you'll die for this?"

"Yeah."

Spot gave South that trademark grin. "Let's get some boys together and make plans. We'll meet after the funeral tomorrow."  
"Sure thing. Where?"

"The roof, at midnight. Tell all of Brooklyn that's still loyal that we'll be at war. Tell 'em…well damn, you know what to tell 'em."

South spit in his palm, and Spot did the same. The two boys shook hands. That excitement and bloodlust was beginning to grow in Spot. In a week, he knew Brooklyn's numbers would fall and he'd either be dead or in jail, but he didn't care. Michael Parker would get what he deserved, no matter what the cost was.

Minutes later, a very beaten October Tuesday stumbled into the lodging house. "Spot, you gotta hear this," he mumbled before promptly passing out.


	11. House of God

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been a week and a half since my last confession."

Father Dietrich, the oldest priest within eight miles of St. Joseph Roman Catholic Church of Brooklyn New York, smiled warmly at the sound of Spot Conlon's voice. "For a while, Spot, I thought you'd lost your faith. A week and a half, and no sign of you here or at mass…very peculiar."

"Lost my faith? Never. Things have just been a little odd lately. I guess I'm only here 'cause I got a funeral to attend in less 'n an hour."  
The priest didn't say a word for a moment. Ethan Cooke, the suicidal newsboy who, instead of taking an easier way out, shot himself in the right lung. Yes, he knew whose funeral that was. "Very well. Confess your sins."

Spot cracked his knuckles. The confessional booth was tiny and dark, and he couldn't help but feel slightly intimidated every time he stepped in. "I've been drinkin' a lot lately, Father. I know it ain't too healthy or nothin', but it helps pass the time. I had a few…I donno…lustful thoughts, I guess you could call 'em, about a girl I know."

"Your girlfriend?"

"I ain't too sure." Kate Fox: Spot Conlon's girlfriend. He grinned. "Sounds pretty nice, 'my girlfriend.' She's great, Father. One of a kind, and I mean it this time."

"What about the other girl, the one who's pregnant with your child?" Father Dietrich asked. "You told me about her the last time you were here. Have you spoken with her?"

"No, I ain't talked to her since…" Spot paused to think. "Actually, since that night. Her brother—I think I told you this—worked me over pretty bad. Anyway, back to my sins."

Spot knew that whatever he said in that tiny booth was confidential, and no matter what, the priest couldn't tell a soul of anything anybody said in there. With that thought in mind, Spot cleared his throat. "About that funeral today, Father. It's Ethan Cooke's. He was my best friend." _Don't cry_. "He didn't kill himself, Father."

"He didn't?"

"No. He was murdered. I saw it; thirty other boys saw it. I've been thinkin' a lot lately and I know that I'm gonna kill the guy who shot him."

"Two wrongs don't make a right, Spot."  
"I know, but that son of a bitch—"

"House of God, Spot."

"…Sorry." Spot made the sign of the cross quickly. "That guy ain't even sorry. He just up an' shoots Ethan and don't give a damn about it." Again, Spot crossed himself. "He's rubbin' it in my face, and I swear on my mother's grave, if he shows his face today I ain't gonna be able to control my actions."

Father Dietrich folded his hands neatly in his lap. "Do you remember your Commandments, Spot?" he asked.

"The Moses ones? O' course I do. You want me to rattle 'em off for you?"

The priest smiled. "No, Spot. Think about them—number five in particular…and perhaps three as well. Anything else you need to get off your chest?"

Spot thought for a moment. "I swore twice in church today." Father Dietrich laughed a bit. Spot Conlon was a good kid, and he knew that. "Other than that, I think that's it."

"It was good to see you again, Spot. Say a rosary or two, that should be penance enough." Spot stood up to leave, but the priest wasn't finished. "Spot." He sat back down. "You're a lot of things, but if there's one thing you're not, it's a murderer. I don't want to see you take the wrong action for this delicate situation. I suggest you go to the police. I know that revenge might seem to be the best thing to do, but the only one who decides who lives and who dies is God."

Spot stared at the door to the confessional booth. He was gambling Heaven and Hell—he knew that--but what else could he do? "I watched my brother die, Father."

"Watching someone you love pass is much better than spending eternity with Satan."

With a sigh, Spot stood again. "Thanks for the advice, Father. I'll see you at mass on Sunday—that's a promise."

………

People never look the same in death. Ethan's case was no different. His face had lost his color, and Spot had never seen Ethan wear anything nearly as nice as the suit that Mr. and Mrs. Emanuel had bought for him to be buried in. The mess of blonde curls that once wildly covered his head were trimmed and neatly groomed to near perfection. Ethan didn't look asleep, as most people say a corpse does. He looked, well, dead.

Spot stared down at his friend and bit the inside of his lip. Even a week later, it still hadn't quite hit the boy that he would never speak to Ethan again. The thought was more than he could bear, so Spot had pushed it back and concentrated on different things, like when and where and how Michael Parker would die.

The funeral took place on a sunny day at Spot's church. Ethan wasn't quite a religious person, but where else would they have the funeral? Mrs. Emanuel had hand-chosen the flowers that surrounded the casket that Mr. Emanuel selected. The entire Emanuel family was at the church that day—Nathan, Sarah, Susanna, Maria, and Margaret (and of course, Nathan Jr.)

"Thanks for coming, Mr. and Mrs. Emanuel," Spot told them after they'd paid their respects to the body. As Ethan's closest thing to a relative (his sisters lived in Chicago and couldn't make the funeral), it was Spot's duty to receive the guests. "And thanks for everything. It means the world to me."

Mrs. Emanuel took Spot in a long and slightly awkward embrace. "Dear, it was no trouble at all," she said. "That poor boy deserves a proper goodbye. Quite tragic, isn't it, Nathan?"

"Quite tragic indeed," Mr. Emanuel replied with a firm handshake for Spot. "You hang in there, my boy, and remember: if ever you need a place to stay or money for anything, let us know. You're practically family." He turned the South's three sisters. "Come along, girls. Let's take a seat."

Maria and Margaret followed their parents, but Susanna stayed behind. She looked exactly like South, but a year older and female. "Nate told me everything, Spot," she whispered after giving Brooklyn a soft kiss on the cheek. "My husband knows people who would take care of that Parker character. I'd pay. Let me know if you need help."

Spot gave Susanna a respectful smile. "You ain't gonna tell your parents or the cops, are you?"

She shook her head. "Of course not." Susanna placed her hand on Spot's shoulder and after giving him a gentle squeeze, followed the rest of her family to the back of the church.

Most of the Brooklyn newsies crammed themselves into the church for one of two reasons, which are as follows: 1.) To pay their respects and prove their loyalty to Spot, or 2.) To see what would happen when Spot realized that Michael was among the guests at the funeral.

One person who wasn't in attendance, however, was October Tuesday. After passing out the night before, he hadn't regained his consciousness before Spot left for the church that morning. After giving it a bit of thought, Spot left one of the younger boys in charge of watching out for 'Tober and gave another the task of alerting Spot when he woke up.

The last person to greet Spot was Michael Parker, and it took every fiber of Spot's being to keep himself from repeatedly smashing Parker's head into the marble floor. "Suicides are quite sad, aren't they, Spot?" Michael said with that sick grin.

"You better pray to God, Parker, that the cops catch up with you before I do," Spot said. "At least then you'll stay alive.'

"But why would the cops catch up with me? I had nothing to do with Ethan's suicide."

"Don't you _dare_ say his name—"

"What are you going to do, Spot? Are you going to hit me in a house of God?"

That's exactly what Spot did. Seconds after he formed a quick fist, Parker was on the ground with Spot's knee digging into his stomach and his hand attached to Michael's neck.

"You can't kill the truth, Parker!" Spot screamed at him, which caused quite a bit of commotion among those in the church. He tightened his grip on Parker's neck. "Get the hell out of this church right now, or I'll throw you out myself." One more punch in the face was enough, and Spot stood and wiped his brow. Every single person at St. Joseph's Roman Catholic Church of Brooklyn New York was staring at him. He took a deep breath and spoke. "I think we can start now," he said awkwardly.

Parker fled, along with a little less than half of the boys. Spot watched them leave and took note of each and every person who exited the church. South walked up to Spot and threw a handkerchief on the ground. With his foot, he made small circles on the ground with the white piece of cloth, and then picked it up.

"He got blood on the floor," South simply explained, and shoved the handkerchief back in his pocket. "And my parents are very confused. You might want to avoid them for a while."

"Will do."

"Nice hit, by the way."

"Thanks."

……..

Spot found himself once again in the confessional booth. "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been an hour and a half since my last confession."

……..

Well, I must say, that was quick.

Much thanks to Lady Rach, Elyse, Sarah, Adri, Stormshadow, Rae Kelly, Bookey, MS, Love, Irish Lass, Sparks, Buttons, KP, timeisawasteoflife, and Roa for the reviews. Shoutouts next time, that's a promise!

If you're reading, and even if you don't want to, can you review? I just want to know what size of an audience I'm getting. It means a bunch, being sort of a new author, and…yes. Stuff. Great! See you next time!


	12. Like You Mean It

Look, a casting call! I'm gonna need Brooklyners (preferably boys, but girls are good too). Leave a review with the following information (other character profiles will not be accepted), but don't forget to review the chapter too! Ahh, ohkay.

Full name:  
Nickname:  
Age:  
Nationality:  
Birth order:  
Siblings:  
Height:  
Eye Color:  
Hair Color:  
Clothing:  
Any habits?  
Greatest flaw:  
Best quality:  
Character's short-term goals in life:  
Character's long-term goals in life:  
How does Character see himself/herself?  
How does Character believe he/she is perceived by others?  
How does the character deal with:  
Anger?  
Sadness?  
Loss?  
What frightens this character?  
What makes this character happy?  
What are the character's spiritual beliefs?  
General description of their past (doesn't have to be detailed):  
Do you mind if I pair your character with another character of the opposite sex?  
And lastly: would you rather be on Spot's or Parker's side? (May be switched)

* * *

So what exactly happened to October Tuesday? It's a hell of a brave thing he did. I don't even need to stretch the truth. 

It was near midnight when 'Tober brought Kate to the tavern to meet up with Parker. He'd apologized to her eight times in six blocks, which Kate found to be quite nice.

"So what's gonna happen to me?" she asked him outside the door.

'Tober shrugged. "I donno," he said. "Don't think they'll hurt you or anything. Parker just wants to scare your boyfriend."

"My boyfriend?" Kate bit her lip and smiled. "I didn't really think of Spot as my boyfriend."

"So he ain't?"

"Well I guess he is, if other people think so." _My boyfriend. Spot is my boyfriend._ Kate repeated it over and over in her head. It was incredibly adorable.

"Oh." 'Tober looked at the door. "Listen," he said. "I feel terrible about this whole thing, and I'm really sorry--"

"I know, you said that about eight times already."

"Yeah, I guess that makes nine. Anyway, this ain't right. I'm fightin' for the wrong side here." 'Tober thought for a moment. "I want you to hit me."

Kate blinked. "Hit you? Why?"

"If you hit me hard enough, I can let you go and tell Parker that you got away." Kate raised an eyebrow. "It's a good idea! He'd believe it, too. He's a real idiot, lemme tell you."

"I've never hit anyone before," Kate told him innocently. "I don't know what to do."

"Well here, lemme show you." 'Tober took her hand and balled it into a fist. "Just keep it like this, see? Then, what you do is..." He guided Kate's arm. "Just pull it back and push real hard right here." He demonstrated so, leaving Kate's fist on his nose. "Break it, even. That'll be convincing."

"You want me to break your nose?" Kate was mildly horrified, but she'd do it to get away.

"If you can, yeah."

Kate stared at him. "I don't see how this is going to work," she said. "Is he really that stupid?"

"Yes."

"Oh." Kate looked down at her fist. "Okay, should I do it now?"

"Yeah, go ahead," said 'Tober. "Real hard, too. Like you mean it."

With a sigh, Kate weakly punched 'Tober in the nose. "Harder," he told her. She tried again, but failed to do any real damage. "Like you mean it, Kate!"

Kate gritted her teeth, took a deep breath, and slammed her fist into October's face. This sent him back a bit, and he muttered a quiet curse as he raised his hand to his nose. It was bleeding and it hurt, but "I didn't hear it break. Did you?" Kate shook her head. "Try again."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah, do it again! Like last time, except, you know, better."

So she did it again. After taking another deep breath, Kate pulled her arm back and grunted a little as she punched 'Tober. Sucess: his nose cracked under her fist and she gasped.

"I'm so sorry!" she said as she tried to comfort him. His forehead was pressed against the wall of the tavern and he was repeatedly slamming his fist into the bricks. Certain words left his mouth that Kate cringed at hearing. "I'm really sorry, October!"

"No," he said. "No, that was good. That was real good..._ouch_. Oh, _shit,_ that hurt."

"I'm sorry!"

"Don't be!" He lifted his forehead from the wall and turned to Kate, who winced when she saw the blood running down 'Tober's face. "You can go now," he said, his teeth a disgusting shade of pale red.

"Are you sure?" she asked. "I have a handkerchief, if you want it."

"No, just go. I'll finish up here." He paused. "Lock your door tonight, too, all right?" Kate nodded. "You're a good kid. Go."

As soon as Kate was out of sight, 'Tober took the liberty of smashing his head against the ground. When he felt too dizzy to function, he entered the tavern. The looks he received would have been priceless to him, had he been coherent enough to see them.

"What the hell happened to you?" Parker asked him. "And where's the girl?"

"She..." 'Tober almost fell. "She got away."

"She got away?"

"Yeah." He leaned up against the table Parker was sitting at for support, but his hand slipped and he fell forward, spilling drinks and giving himself another bruise.

"You got beat by a girl?" Parker asked. He didn't bother helping 'Tober up. "That's pathetic, Tuesday."

"She was a bitch," he mumbled. "A real bitch..."

"You know what this means, don't you?" Parker asked him. 'Tober would have shook his head if things weren't spinning so fast. "I gotta hurt you."

All 'Tober could think was the word "no." He wished for unconsciousness, but Parker wasn't gonna let him have it. He was picked up from the table and found himself being held up while Michael stood and slipped on what looked to be brass knuckles.

"Shit, Parker..." He didn't have a chance to get away.

'Tober explained this all to Spot, leaving out some minor detail and adding in a few things. Spot sat on the foot of the bed, still wearing his funeral clothes; he hadn't bothered changing from them. South was sitting on the floor, leaning up against the bunk with his back to 'Tober. He shook his head.

"Gotta hand it to ya, 'Tober, you're one smart son of a bitch," he said. "I wouldn't have thought of that."

"I think I really hurt my head, though," 'Tober told Spot. "How do I look?"

"Like hell," he replied, and 'Tober smiled. He was missing a tooth. "Thanks, October. You did a good thing."

"No trouble, no trouble...can I sleep?"

"Sure thing." Spot stood. "Give a holler if you need anything." He offered a hand to South and helped him up. The two boys left the bunkroom and made their way downstairs. "I feel terrible," Spot told South.

"Why? You didn't do nothin'."

"But it's my fault this happened." Spot didn't see any logic in his statement, but it felt like it was his fault, and that's all that he needed to come to the conclusion that he was to blame.

South sighed. "You really don't give yourself enough credit, you know that?" he said. "Anyway, about half of the boys are on your side. We're still on for tonight?"

Spot's face twisted. "Actually, I was thinkin' of going to Kate's."

"What about the meeting?"

"Tomorrow night--midnight. Same place."

"Yeah, yeah, right.Get the hell outta here."

It took Spot a considerable amount of time to reach Kate's apartment. The sun was gone by the time he arrived. As he walked up the endless amount of stairs to get to Kate's floor, he found himself running his fingers through his hair and straightening his collar. It was a little odd, but Spot didn't mind being picky with his looks too much.

He knocked thrice on her door. It took a bit of time, but soon enough Spot heard Kate unlock the door. She opened it slowly, and only a crack at that.

The door opened a bit more when she saw who it was. "Oh, Spot." Kate lowered her shoe. "Hi."

Spot raised an eyebrow. "A shoe?" he asked. "You can do better than that."

Kate laughed. "The heel's hard enough," she said. There was a pause, almost an awkward silence. "You wanna come in?"

"Yeah." Kate opened the door fully and Spot stepped in. He looked around. "Not bad," he said.

She shrugged. "I don't need much," she said, referring to the singular room. "The window's nice, at least."

Spot walked over to the pane of glass and pushed back the curtain. "Nice view," he commented. "You can see half the city up here."

"The stairs are hell, though." Spot looked at her and smiled. She smiled back. "Is your friend all right?"

"Yeah, he's fine. He will be, at least." He stepped towards her. It was as far as he needed to go in the tiny room to be able to stand right next to her. "I ain't gonna let anything like that happen again, all right?" Kate nodded. "You okay?" She nodded again. "Good."

Spot put his hand on the back of her head and pulled her close to him, giving her a short kiss on the forehead. Kate looked up at him. Her heart was pumping so fast, just from that. She'd never felt the way she did then.

As he looked into her eyes, Spot felt complete. He didn't mind being romantic and "mushy," as South would say. He just wanted to be with Kate, to feel her skin on his and hear her voice. Spot's arms found their way around her waist, and he pulled her closer to him.

Neither of them said a word as they looked at each other. Kate was considerably shorter than Spot was, so she had to get on her toes to kiss him. She closed her eyes and let her lips find his.

Spot was taken aback for a moment. He didn't expect Kate to make the first move, but it only mattered for a second. His eyes closed and he kissed her. It lasted longer than either of them expected, and Kate was the first to pull away.

"Spot?"

"Kate." She kissed him again, harder this time. Spot's arms wandered upwards; he ran his fingers through her hair. The kiss didn't end. Spot had done this hundreds of times,but never had he felt so connected to any person. He lightly let his tongue wander her lips, her teeth. Kate followed his movements. What was once a sweet kiss had heated and become something else, something more passionate. When they finally parted, both wanted something more.

"Is the door locked?" Spot asked.

"Yeah," Kate replied.

Spot stepped back a bit and pulled his shirt off, letting it fall to the floor. Kate saw his scar--the long, pink reminder of a responsibility to Emma Ross. She traced the line with her finger, then kissed Spot again.

Four hands wandered, clothing littered the floor. Kate blew out the candle.

* * *

Three updates in one week. I am amazing! And modest, too! Ah, me. Anyways, expect less-frequent updates from now on. Monday is auditions for "Aida", which I'll be stage-managing (I usually act, but I figured I'd rather be important backstage than unimportant onstage. That's just me.) We're the first non-professional group in the country to get the rights to the show, so it's incredibly exciting. So, if you hear anything about Appleton North HS putting on Aida, that's us! I'll be swamped with that and school, so any update will be awesome. All right! Shoutouts! (Some of these are from chapter nine, even...I'm going from last review, here!) 

Sarah--Thanks! Perfect girls bug me, too. Let me know if Kate gets too much like a Mary-Sue, okay? I'll die.

Adri--Haha, Amusing Lies is now a romantic comedy. ...Or not. but hey, that would rock, and by rock I mean suck.

Rae--Hey, I never get anything done by any due date, so you're good. You should be proud of yourself!

Buttons--I actually have never read A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, but I've wanted to for a while now. I think I might have to go get it.

Love--There's no cliffhanger this time! I hope you're happy! Haha, there's only so many of those I can put in. They're fun, though. Anyway, don't worry, nothing bad is going to happen to Kate, at least not right now...hmm...

KP--I actually do remember that, and I thought of you when I was writing the confession scene. No joke! I knew you'd love that.

Bookey--I agree! Spot should beat people up more often. The world would be a better place, I think.

Sparks--I hate Parker too. Hopefully I can add a little more character to him, though, because right now he just seems like a random villan with no feelings, and he has feelings! Thanks for the review, love how you sign it!

Chelsea--October Tuesday came from a variety of places. October came from the episode of 21 Jump Street (JOHNNY DEPP AHHHHH) when Johnny goes undercover as a punk, and one of the kids nickname is Tober, for October. Tuesday came from the fact that I think days and months make great names. I'm thinking that right now Tuesday is 'Tober's actual last name, but as far as his first name goes, I have no idea. Anyway, thanks a bunch! I've always wanted to do a confessional with a newsie or two, so this was my chance!

MS--Don't worry, I have a paper for AP English that was assigned, and I definately didn't do it or pay any attention to what it is, so I'm screwed. This is the third time I haven't done a paper, mostly because I'm too busy writing this to listen to what my teacher is saying. But anyway, thanks a bunch! I like that line, too, and South is my favorite.

Roa--Thanks for the CC! I read "Right Hand Man", and I'm loving it so far.

IrishLass--Hey, I e-mailed you. I hate writing subject lines for e-mails...it's just strange for me, I guess. But anyway! Check that out, and thanks a bunch for the review!

Elyse--Ahh, thank you! Even though Ethan's dead, I think we'll see a little more of him, in a flashback or something. Although I killed him off I still love him a bunch and want to write more of him. Gah!

Lady Rach--My priests are not that cool either (we have two). There used to be this really awesome priest who even went for ice cream with a friend and I, and we just talked and had a great time, but he left. Anyways, you need to TRY HARDER to meet newsies! Haha. I'm hoping to go to New York soon. I know a girl who goes to NYU, and she loves it, so I hope you had a great time!

Happy New Year, every one!


	13. Better This Way

As Spot slowly faded into consciousness that morning, it took him a few moments to remember where he was. Light spilled through the window and flooded the miniscule room, only adding to the incredible June heat. Spot's eyes opened slowly, and after convincing himself he'd get up on the count of three more than twice, he pushed himself up on his elbows.

He was in Kate's apartment, and he was very naked. The previous night quickly came back to him. With his eyes, Spot searched the floor for his clothing. Shirt was near the window, underthings were hanging on for dear life at the foot of the bed, knickers and the red suspeners were only half-visible (on account of their current position under the bed), and God only knew where his socks were.

_My last pair, too_, Spot noted. He turned his head and looked down at Kate, who was still sleeping peacefully next to him. He hated to wake her, but something told him it was later in the morning and he'd already missed the buisness rush. If he wanted to make any money at all that day, Spot knew he had to get out of bed.

She was lovely next to him. The sight of a sleeping girl in his bed was usually good enough for Spot, but this was different. This was love, not lust. The previous night wasn't about getting anybody off, it was a connection that had been made nearly a year earlier turned physical.

Spot wanted this every morning for the rest of his life. He wanted to wake up in the morning and be able to look over and see her next to him. He wanted to get out of bed early and make her breakfast. He wanted to take care of a son and let her sleep instead. Kate stirred and opened her eyes. The moment they caught Spot's, he changed. His choice was made, and all he needed was her consent. "Good morning," he said quietly, slipping down on to his side again and pulling the sheets over both of them.

"Good morning, Kate replied sleepily. "What time is it?"

"Who cares?" Kate smiled. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah." She blinked slowly a few times. "Will your friends worry?" she asked. "You can leave, if you want."

"No, somebody knows where I am," Spot replied. "Besides, nobody worries about me."

Kate shifted her body closer to Spot's. "I do," she said as she kept her eyes on his. "Well, maybe I don't worry, but you're always on my mind."

"Truely?"

"Absoloutely."

_Ask her._ "Kate?"

"Hmm?"

Spot blinked. "Do you love me?"

There was a beat, and nothing more. "Yes," Kate said. "I do."

"And you know that I've loved you since the moment you hit me in the face with your shoulder?"

Kate laughed. "Yeah, I figured as much." She leaned in a little and softly touched her lips with Spot's. "You know you don't need to ask me these things?"

"I ask because I need to know something." Spot's eyes grew serious. "Kate...would you go away with me?"

Her expression didn't change at all, but Spot sensed confusion. "What do you mean? As in, leave Brooklyn?"

"Leave New York," Spot clarified. "Would you leave New York with me?"

She didn't fully understand why Spot would want to leave, but his motives were not what mattered to her. "Yes, I would," she replied. "I'd go anywhere with you."

"Would you leave today?"

Doubt quickly flashed through her. "Spot..."

"Please, Kate. I could get us on a train in three hours; we could be in California by the end of the week."

"California?"

"I want to leave all of this and start over with you. You understand that, right?"

Kate could see the honesty in his eyes. "But what about your friends? They live for you, Spot."

"I wouldn't tell them," he said. "You could pack everything right now, and we could leave and go to Manhattan. I can call in a few favors and we'll be outfrom Grand Central this afternoon."

She knew that she was going to go with him in the end. There was nothing for Kate to stay for, anyway. "But California?" she asked skeptically.

"Chicago for starters, then," Spot bargained. "I'll get a job the second we get there. We should have the wedding soon, though-"

"Wedding?" Kate raised an eyebrow and a small smile crept across her lips. "Are you trying to ask me something?"

"Do I even have to ask?" She shook her head vigorously, and Spot kissed her. "I didn't think so."

Their plans were hurriedly made. As Kate packed and paid off her rent, Spot would run to St. Joseph Roman Catholic Church of Brooklyn New York and put together the quickest wedding in history. Kate would meet him there, become Mrs. Spot Conlon, and the pair would make their way to the Emanuel residence in Manhattan. After promising that South would never know the true reason behind Spot's disappearance, Mr. Emanuel would give the newly-wedded couple enough funds to last them until they got settled in Chicago.

Multiple pangs of guilt hit Spot while carrying out these plans. Not only was he lying to South, but he was betraying Ethan by never getting vengance. But he didn't have time to think about the consequences of his actions. His train was leaving.

_It's better this way._

As Spot Conlon left New York City, he had exactly one month to live.

* * *

Shoutouts? Whateva. It's 12:48 on a school night and I need sleep But I will say this: Thanks BUNCHES for the characters, and I'll be using them in chapters to come. I was in the bath tonight (weird, I know) and this just came up. I've got future chapters written in my head, and I'll (most likley) be using those characters in those. So thanks! 

This was just to hold you (and me!) over until I have more time to write. Forgive typos!REVIEW!


	14. New Day

Quick disclaimer: Peter VanErdwick belongs to Buttons.

* * *

South Emanuel was frantic. After three days and no sign of Spot Conlon, he feared the worst. Seven trips to Kate Fox's apartment (which was found to be empty after they finally got fed up and broke in) and messengers sent to every borough in New York City failed to bring up any news of Spot's whereabouts.

"He couldn't have just left, 'Tober," South said to October Tuesday as the two walked through Brooklyn's streets. "Where would he go? And why wouldn't he tell us?"

"I donno." It was the first time 'Tober was able to get outside since he made Kate break his nose. The middle of his face was a disgusting dark purple shade, and there was no definition in his nose at all anymore. He let a few beats go before speaking. "Anybody talked to Parker about it at all?"

South almost stopped walking. "I don't wanna even think about it, 'Tober," he said firmly. His tone suggested a change of subject, but October wasn't going to allow it.

"Spot could be in deep shit, South," he said. "You gotta at least go ask if he's seen 'im. Gauge his reaction—you'll be able to tell if he had anything to do with it."

"If Parker was gonna kill Spot, he'd do it in front of all a' Brooklyn," South explained.

'Tober thought for a moment. "Well who says he's dead yet?"

This time, South did stop walking. "You don't think—"

"I don't know."

South inhaled deeply. "All right," he said. "We go to Parker."

Peter VanErdwick ran into the bunkroom on the second floor of the lodging house and slammed the door behind him. "Parker," he said as he attempted to catch his breath. "They still can't find him."

Michael stood from the bed on which he was lounging. "Still?"

Peter hunched down and rested his hands on his thighs. He let his head drop. "Still." He was breathing heavily, having run from one corner of Brooklyn to the other.

"And the girl?" Michael asked. Peter shook his head, which caused his blonde hair to cover his face. He jerked his head back and to the side to free a space for him to see through. Michael paced a bit. "So Spot skipped town then, huh?" A slight smirk grew on his lips.

"That's the rumor," Peter replied. "Nobody's seen him since he went to that girl's place, and now that place is empty."

Peter VanErdwick didn't know exactly why he chose the side he did. He'd always shown his loyalty to Spot Conlon through thick and thin, and yet this time around things were different. Perhaps it was doubt of Spot's abilities, or perhaps it was just time for a change. Whatever the case was, he had taken a position as Parker's messenger, and was paying for it physically. All that running around was really taking its toll on his legs.

You could almost see the light bulb turn on above Parker's head. "I've got a notion, Peter," he said, still half-lost in thought. "Think about this: we pull it off as our doing."

"You mean, lie to all of New York?"

"To those who care, yeah."

Peter looked up. "You think you can get away with it?" he asked. "You don't have a body."

"So we dumped him in the river," Parker said with a shrug. "Those idiots don't need a body; they'll believe every word I say."

"What'd we do with the girl, then?" Peter asked. "You can't just forget about her."

"Yeah, yeah…her too. Both of 'em." Parker snapped his fingers. "It's perfect! He went to her apartment that night, right? So we was there waitin' for 'im." He slammed his fist into his palm. "So now they're dead, and we dumped 'em."

Peter stood up straight and nodded. "Yeah…I think this might work." He grinned at Parker. "I really think it'll work."

"All right, Peter, now you can't say a word about this to anybody else. Lemme do the talking, right?" Peter nodded in agreement.

Just then, the door to the bunkroom opened. South got a good stare at both Michael and Peter before walking into the room with 'Tober behind him.

"Shut the door, 'Tober," South commanded; his eyes never left Parker's. 'Tober obeyed, and now all four boys were alone in silence.

"Where is he, Parker?" South asked after some time. Michael didn't answer him. South asked again, "Where is he, Parker?"

Michael took a deep breath, and then exhaled. "He's dead, Nathan."

South kept his eyes on Parker for only a second before lunging at him. 'Tober threw his arm out and grabbed South by the back of his shirt collar, which cut off his breath and caused him to stop. He coughed a few times before looking up at Parker. "What have you done?" he asked hoarsely. His eyes were watering.

"I did what was best for Brooklyn. He understood, Nathan."

South was unable to take in what Parker was saying. He was on his knees. Everything had gone numb—he couldn't feel or hear or see. He thought he felt hands on his shoulders, but he couldn't be sure.

Parker stared down at South. 'Tober was trying to pull him up from his knees, but was too weak to make any progress. Peter looked on with indifference. Parker took a step or two forward, and 'Tober backed away.

Step one: Establish authority.

With his fist, Parker grabbed a handful of South's hair and yanked his head down while his knee went up. It connected with South's forehead, which snapped back, and he fell backwards. He found himself staring up at the ceiling, and everything was spinning.

'Tober opened his mouth in protest, but Parker's eyes caught his and he quickly shut it. Peter was trying his best to look as if he didn't mind what had just happened, but he was doing a pretty bad job of it.

Step two: Inform the masses.

"Peter," Michael said as he combed his fingers through his hair. "Get the word out that Spot Conlon is dead."

He didn't want to even move, but the look in Parker's eyes convinced Peter otherwise. "Sure thing," he said, stepping past the three other boys and out of the bunkroom.

Parker knelt down next to South, who was swimming on the edge of consciousness. With one hand, he brushed the hair from South's brow while resting his other elbow on his knee. "Welcome to the new day, Emanuel."

Step three: Take control.

* * *

Just another short chapter to keep us all sane here! Maybe someday I'll write something longer than three pages (double-spaced, even), but until then, this'll have to do! And SHOUTOUTS TODAY! Hooray!

Chocolates—Thanks for the character! I'll see if I can work her in somewhere.

Rae Kelly—Psh, education. Can't live with it, can't live without it!

Written Sparks—Wow, thanks! I always love hearing when people like my writing (haha, who wouldn't?) And thanks for the characters! I'll do my best to use them!

Elyse—I am just full of cliffhangers, aren't I? And apparently Parker's taking over. Oops.

Lady Rach—I love cookies. And you can never say "hunger pains", it's always gotta be "hungy pains"…it just sounds better (like "sammich" and "are you cereal?")

Madison Square—Haha, I got, like, ten or twelve CCs. Not too bad! Seriously, though, e-mail me with a profile if you want in. I'd be more than happy to accept it. Although, I do have a ton of characters brewing around up here…Trip Falls, Eddie Falcon, Jaime Torrez. Oo, I'm excited!

Time is a waste of life—Hey, you make tons of sense! Six months isn't a long time, but I went through the story to figure out my timeline and see how much time I had left (coz it's supposed to be Spot's last two or so years) and I was surprised at how much time had passed since the beginning.

Charlie Bird—Holy name change, Batman! And thanks for the little historical accuracy slap in the face…I guess I just assumed that it had been built ("Uptown to Grand Central station, down to city hall…"), so thanks for keeping me in line

Stormshadow—CANADA? NOOOOO-just kidding! I have like, six thousand friends from Canada, and by six thousand I mean, like, five. And I thoroughly enjoyed writing about Spot naked...hehe

Sparks—Haha, I'd like to see that dance! Doooo iiiiit!


	15. Something Eventful

Sheer exhaustion had completely taken over Spot. A week into his new life in Chicago had left him with a lack of energy, calloused hands, and muscle definition like you wouldn't believe.

Spot was too old and had too many new responsibilities to remain a newsie. He had taken a precious job at a factory to work long hours for mere pennies—a fraction of his past wages. A handsome face can get you far on the streets, but here, it meant nothing.

Left hopeless and tired at the end of each day, Spot would return home where Kate would be waiting to comfort him. As she held her love, his hands subconsciously wandered to his chest, fingering for what was no longer there. He could feel it, however—how the heavy brass would sit on his bare chest, always cooler than it seemed it should be. For years he wore it, but now it was just another thing missing from his life.

Spot received the key from his mother when he was eleven years old. It was the only way to get in to the rooms in which he grew up. Maggie had strung the brass with sturdy thread, and then tied it around her son's neck.

"Just to be safe," she had said with a smile as she tucked the key away under his shirt. Spot had kept it even after he left home. Childhood is a precious thing, and we're often hesitant to let go of it.

But in an effort to leave some evidence of his existence in Brooklyn behind, Spot had pulled the string over his head and threw the metal to the floor of the Lodging House before leaving. The collision of the piece with the wooden floor made its' noise, then came to rest under one of the many bunk beds in that room. Spot then took one last look around the lodge, then left to meet Kate. He was gone from the city within the hour.

Two days after Spot's "murder", something eventful happened. Now, Trip Falls was never one to hold his alcohol very well. At six-six, he was a tower just waiting to collapse. After spending the night with stolen liquor, Trip stumbled up the stairs and headed towards his bed in one of the bunkrooms. Before he could reach it, however, he collapsed completely. Trip hit the floor hard. It took a moment for his swimming vision to calm itself (enough at least for him to see), and when it did, he found himself staring at some fallen object.

Trip remained on the floor, but picked up the string of the object. Upon closer examination of his findings, Trip pulled the string around his neck, sprung up, and ran to the opposite bunkroom.

"Hey Parker!" he said loud enough to get the other boy's attention. The room was full of Michael's supporters; there was no need for secrecy. "I found this."

"Are you drunk?" Parker asked, but his words were cut short when Trip grabbed the key and held it out in front of him as far as the strong would allow. Michael's eyes studied the key.

"Look familiar?" Trip asked with a smirk.

"Give it here," Parker demanded as he held out his hand. Trip obediently removed the strong from his neck and placed the proof of Spot's murder in Parker's palm.

"Perfect," one of the boys remarked. Parker held the string up so the key was level with his eyes. He then thrust free hand out, fingers stretched, reaching.

"Gimme your knife, Finn," he commanded. Boston (whom until recently had tried to stay out of the entire feud, but now found it necessary to take a side) patted the sides of his pants until he came to where the blade was resting—right underneath his suspenders, perfectly situated between his hips and his trousers. He tossed his hair out of his vision with a flick of his head and handed the knife to Parker blade-first. Parker closed his fingers around the blade, and with his other hand (still grasping the key), he quickly pulled the knife from his grip.

Parker didn't feel the pain until he saw the blood seeping from two identical cuts on each side of his palm. Boston bit his upper lip when his knife was returned to him. Trip inhaled sharply through his teeth upon seeing the result of Parker's actions.

"What was that—"

"We gotta make the evidence convincing, don't we?" Michael told him as he switched the key from one hand to the other. That which would convince Brooklyn that Spot Conlon was indeed dead soaked through the thread and covered their proof.

Parker took the key by its string. "Call Brooklyn to assembly," he ordered to no one in particular. "We're gonna discuss leadership roles."

He paused. There was something in his eyes that none of the boys had noticed before—something almost sinister, ambitious, frightening. "Write up a contract on South Emanuel's life. I don't want him getting in the way anymore."

* * *

This was VERY short. I had started writing more to this chapter in which South went to Manhattan, but scrapped that idea after about a page and a half, and now I'm tired and wanted to get this up, so that's why this is tiny. But Happy Fifteenth Chapter, my loyal readers! Thanks a bunch for all of your reviews and support throughout this whole thing. I took an idea and ran with it, and you guys are all running behind me. So thanks!

Lady Rach-So THERE you are! I was wondering where you might have disappeared to. I donno how much longer Spot can hold on. I guess we'll just have to wait and see!

Pokey—I DID leave you hanging for long! Sorry about that. Hopefully I can get in some more chapters before I go too crazy with school and theatre!  
MadmButterfly—Thank you so much! Keep reviewing!

Sparks—Yeah, "poor South"…girl, you have no idea. Just you wait! It's gonna get good soon.

Lil ms kp—Hey, thanks! Spot will come back soon, I promise!

Buttons—You're totally welcome! Peter just seemed kind of cute in the profile you sent, and he fit the short little part I wanted perfectly, so we both win!

Written sparks—Haha, even though your reviews aren't the typical sympathies towards the characters, they're still great. And hey, you can totally review again! (hint, hint) Oh come on, I'm not THAT desperate for reviews. …Okay, maybe I am.

Love 97—You know me, I love the suspense!

Cloakedauthor21—Thanks for the character! I'll see if I can use her anywhere in the story.

Raeghann—Look who finally crawled out of the reviewing lurker hole! Good to hear from you again! Business sucks, but you shall overcome it! Thanks a ton for the review!

Elyse—I totally did not plan that Spiderman connection, but that's weird. I never really thought of it that way!

Chocolates—Thanks a bunch! What can I say—short chapters are my forte.

Bittah—Hey girlie, thanks super much! Hope you got to read more—I've been checking out your stories but I haven't finishdd any of them yet.

Trucalifornian—Well those chapters were quick, and this one wasn't. Hope you don't mind TOO much!

Missa—Thanks a ton! It's always great getting reviews from people who never have reviewed before. Keep reading!

Rae Kelly—Always gotta love a man with ambitions. I'm hoping to really explore his character deeper soon, but it just hasn't happened yet and I donno when it will. Have fun with that whole finishing college thing—what are you gonna do afterwards?

Storm—Oh hey, that would have been a cheap shot. I never even thought that that might have happened with the way I was writing that. Weeeeird. And the backstreet boys? …YOU DISGUST ME! Kidding, kidding! (Or AM I?)

Sara—Hey, I e-mailed you, like, three times, but I donno if you got any of them. I wrote this nice big e-mail, but it never sent, and then I sent, like, two explaining that. It was so sad, but just so you know, I still totally love you!


	16. Goodbye, Nathan

Manhattan's streets had grown dark as the nightly hours began. A single set of feet hit the cobblestones in rapid succession (accompanied by a slight limp) as Nathan Emanuel, Jr. made his way home. His parents allowed him to live the life he wished to on one condition: South would be home for Sunday supper every week—no exceptions. The boy was now over a half-hour late, with every minute adding to his father's anger and his mother's worry.

The Emanuel home was large, painted white with gray trim and a navy blue door. A white picket fence was surrounded by flowers in the summer and dirt in the fall. South finally made his way up the front walkway and pushed open the heavy oak door with his right shoulder (his left was torn apart.)

"'S just me!" he shouted out after realize the noise his entrance had made. South ripped off his cap and threw it to the floor, then proceeded to a closet. Out of that cave he pulled a black suit coat and a bowtie, which he threw to the ground in order to trade a dirty tan over-shirt for a crisp white one.

"We're waiting dinner, sweetheart," Mrs. Emanuel called to him from the dining room. South tied a quick bow around his neck and rushed down the hallway as he fit his arms into the sleeves of the coat.

He stopped, however, at the mirror. South could just make out his dimly-lit features, so it wasn't until he licked his lips and tasted blood that he realized how bad he looked. His eyes were each set right in the center of a black circle, and his cheekbones and jaw were bruised and swollen. Both his right eyebrow and his lip were split, and his teeth were a faint shade of pink.

"_What're you gonna do, South? Huh?" He was again backhanded. "You gonna fight back?"_

_He'd given up. "No."_

A week ago, South would have thought that a man was a coward if he stood there and took it. Now, he wasn't so sure.

"_And why the hell not?" He found himself on the ground once more._

_He inhaled deeply. "I'm just…tired. Too tired…"_

"Nathan?" His father's voice snapped South back into the present. "If you could join us…?" South took one more glance into the mirror and ran his fingers through his tangled hair before turning and making his way into the dining room.

Four identical gasps accompanied Mr. Emanuel clearing his throat as South's family saw the condition he was in. He ignored it, however, and sat down. "I'm sorry I'm late," he said, refusing to lift his eyes. South unfolded his napkin and placed it square in his lap. "I was…held up back in Brooklyn."

"What in God's name happened to you?" Mrs. Emanuel asked. "Your face…"

"…My what?"

Susanna cut in. "What happened to your face?"

"Oh. Yes, that. Well...you see…"

"You've been fighting again, haven't you?" South couldn't look at his father. "I sent you to the finest school money could buy to get you away from that, and yet you still continue to act as common street filth?"

"Father—"

"Don't say another word, Nathan." Mr. Emanuel took a look over his family, and saw that the littlest of the Emanuel girls was staring at her brother wide-eyed. "Margaret." The girl's eyes darted back to her plate.

South ate his supper silently, obeying his father's order. Upon finishing his meal, he stood up and crossed around the table to his mother, to whom he gave a loving kiss on her forehead. Margaret, Maria, and Susanna all received the same. For his father, he held out his hand.

Mr. Emanuel's eyes scanned his son's hand, which was calloused and stained with ink from the newsprint. His knuckles were bruised. "You can't continue to live like this, son," he told South. "I'd like you to think about which university you'd like to attend and give me your decision next week."

"I'm not going to any university."

"You'll do as I tell you, and I've decided that you're going to attend a good college and go to law school. Is that clear?"

There was no use fighting him. There was no use fighting anyone anymore. "Yes, Father."

Mr. Emanuel shook his son's hand. "Goodbye, Nathan. We'll see you next week."

On the way out, South took off the suit coat only to find that the left sleeve of his white shirt was now stained deep red at the shoulder. He tugged at the bowtie and dumped both the tie and the coat into the closet, but kept the white shirt on.

After leaving his house, South was immediately met by somebody unexpected. "We figured you shouldn't be out alone," Cain Christensen greeted him. "I know you hate it, but we voted on it."

"You voted?"

"First thing we've been able to agree on in a long time, South."

Silence between two people alone is usually awkward, but this was far from it. An appreciative glance from South to Cain was all the conversation the two boys needed.

* * *

The entirety of the Brooklyn newsboy force was crammed into the lobby of the lodging house. It was now nine o'clock PM, and Michael Parker was waiting to get the meeting started. "Is he here yet?" he asked Fire as he passed. 

"No, Parker, he ain't here."

"We're not starting a damn thing until that bastard's ass is sitting in this god damn room," Parker said. Fire rolled his eyes and turned to leave, but he was stopped. "Hey, Fire." Parker pulled the boy in closer. "Did you write up the, uh—"

"Shut up." Fire's eyes did a quick scan, and then he continued. "It's finished. You just gotta sign it."

"Good work. Now go find South."

Lady Buteccelli pushed her way through the room towards the stairs, where Parker was standing. He smiled with he saw her. "Lady! Doll, where have you been lately?" he exclaimed, but she wiped the smile clean off of his face. A few boys turned at the sound of her hand swiftly coming in contact to Parker's cheek. One even grabbed Lady's arm to pull her away, but Parker waved him off.

"I saw what your boys did to Emanuel, and I think it's wrong," Lady snapped. "You know I support you, but don't you _dare_ go around beating the only people you can patch things up with to save Brooklyn." She sighed. "I can forgive what we've done to Spot, but I can't forgive it if we tear this place apart."

Parker stared into her dark brown eyes. "This ain't about keepin' Brooklyn together anymore, Lady," he told her. "I'm going to take the territory, and I'm going to get rid of whoever stands in our way."

Lady's eyes darted back and forth between Parker's. "What exactly are you saying?" she asked.

Parker pulled her in closer to him and put his lips near her ear. The conversation in the room was loud enough, but he still didn't trust the noise to cover him. "In three days, South will be dead and Brooklyn will be mine."

The faint beginning of tears stung Lady's eyes, and she bit the inside of her lip to stop it from quivering so. "Don't," she pleaded as Parker pulled away from her. A cold hand found its way up to his face, and her fingers ran down his cheek. "Please."

Parker opened his mouth to speak, but realized that the room had grown silent and all eyes were at the front door. South stood in the doorway with Cain protectively behind him. Lady slowly lowered her hand and turned as Parker straightened his back and spoke. "You look like Hell, Emanuel."

There were a few low snickers, but South wasn't in the mood to be bothered by it. "Sit down," he ordered everyone in the room. "Let's get this over with."

* * *

EDIT: Forgot the disclaimer! Cain and Lady do not belong to me (Neither does Peter or Boston, for that matter, from past chapters) I figured this out at around 2am, and thought I should probably add that in.

Hey look! AN UPDATE! I've been up to my waist in Aida for over a month, but that's over (and it was splendid, too) and now I can update more often. Hooray! Not so many reviews from the last chapter and that makes me sad. So look down at that little button, and type to your heart's content!

antiIrony—Hey, thanks for reading!

Rae Kelly—Jobs really suck. I have to get one soon to save up for an Italy trip, and after being fired from the world's most evil department store ever, I'm not looking forward to it very much. Oh well!

Written Sparks—Yeah, the key had always kind of made me wonder, and I've written down so many theories about it, it's kind of funny. Anyways, you might just be the only person who likes short chapters, but it's all good!

Elyse—I HATE THE JUNGLE. OH MY GOD. Worst book ever. I got a 78/110 on the essay I had to write, and I just threw that puppy away. What a horrible, stupid book. The worst part about it is that it's such socialist, I donno, propaganda is a good word? How you read the book and you want to know what happens to Jergis in the end, but he just disappears. UGH. Okay, I'm done now.

Sara—Hey look, I think you're in Hawaii right now. Hmm. You get to go to Hawaii, I go to Florida. Hawaii, Florida…let's weigh them out. Hmph. No complaints, though. I got the part I wanted in Tartuffe, did I tell you? I'm Dorine, the maid, and it will rock so much, so I'll have to give you the dates when Cast B performs. It'll rock so hardcore.

Time is a waste of live—Aww, you called the story fabulous! I love that word! Heh, thanks a whole bunch!

Stormshadow—Backstreet boys are bad, but Hanson makes me think of when I was, like, eleven and had crushes on all three of those guys. They all needed haircuts really badly, though. And hey, I'll give you a double-sized chapter if I get a double-sized review. Deal?

Buttons—I don't think I ever told you this, but I love how in your reviews, different subjects are all separated and such by the little squiggly line. I've just always thought that was cute.

Lady Rach—I've actually never heard that song. Maybe I should get on that…

Maverick—Hey, your review totally rocked. Thanks a ton for reading, and the compliments were very nice too.

Hey guess what, guys? REVIEW!


	17. Confirmation

Disclaimer: Ink belongs to Written Sparks.

* * *

"Get the bible, Peter."

Newsies are just about the most trustworthy people you could ever meet. Those boys were like brothers, and as such they agreed to a strict code of silence.

"Hands in." Thirty smudged and calloused hands struggled to all fit onto one solitary book. The binding was torn and the pages were ripped, but a bible is a bible. "All you here solemnly swear that what is said in this house _stays_ in this house. Anybody caught flappin' their gums to people who ain't one of us will get what comes to 'im."

A monotoned "aye" filled the room and echoed off of the walls, and the boys dispersed. When they all seemed like they were settled, Michael spoke. "We're meeting tonight to discuss the leadership of the Brooklyn newsboy force. As we're all well aware, Spot Conlon is dead, making it nigh on impossible for him to be in charge."

"A lot of us ain't ready to believe that yet, Parker." It was Ink Kemper. He stood against the back wall, hands in his pockets and one leg crossed over the other.

Michael inhaled deeply. It was a phrase he'd heard too many times within the last week. "You'd better start believing, Ink," he growled. "Coz the story ain't gonna change."

Ink wasn't about to quit. "You show us a body and maybe then we'll start listening to you." There were a few murmurs of approval, and a hint of a favorable smirk from South.

Fire stepped up next to Michael. "We told you a million times, we dumped the bodies right after it was done," he said. South caught his glance, and he could have sworn he saw a flash in Fire's eyes that confirmed something different.

South remembered that day nearly a week ago, when Fire grabbed him and pulled him aside. "Things are gonna happen soon, South," he had said. "And you need to know that I'm on your side." After that, Fire was gone, leaving a very confused South standing alone with his newspapers.

Fire was loyal. There was no question to South of what side his heart belonged to.

"We still want proof," Ink argued, which incited many outbursts of arguement as well as approval. Parker finally shut everybody up.

"Fine, you want your proof?" he yelled, then turned back to Fire. "Go get it."

South straightened his back as Fire disappeared up the stairs. "What are you talking about?" he asked Parker.

"You'll see." Fire quickly returned from the bunkroom upstairs with a small box, just bigger than his fist. He handed the box to Parker, who held it out across the room to South. "Go ahead, Emanuel."

A few steps over some of the newsies were all it took for South to get in range to take the box. Whatever was inside wasn't very heavy at all. South took off the lid. He couldn't breathe.

_"What's it for?"_

_"So I can get back into my house, stupid."_

_"Don't call me stupid, stupid."_

_"Hey shut up, _you're_ stupid!"_

Ink had come up behind South. "What is it?" he asked, but South couldn't hear him. He was shaking, his hands felt cold, his lungs had stopped.

South hadn't cried since he was twelve years old and his grandmother passed away. Not until now did he believe that Spot was dead. He always knew that Parker was a dirty rotten liar, so anything that came out of his mouth was complete crap. But now...

He let out a cry unlike anything that ever escaped his lips before. South found himself on the ground, sobbing and yelling. The key laid next to him, stained with blood; confirmation that Spot Conlon was dead.

* * *

"You really should rest, Spot." Kate Conlon's hand found it's way to her husband's shoulder. "You look terrible."

"I can't rest," Spot argued. "Something doesn't feel right." _It's Brooklyn. _

"Please." Kate forced him to look at her. "Spot. You're going to kill yourself if you work this hard and don't take time to recover from it."

"What does it matter? I'm dead already." How incredibly ironic. Spot looked away from her and put his eyes back on the floor.

Kate had begun to see this side of Spot ever since they arrived in Chicago, and she didn't like it. "What's gotten into you?" she asked. "You're so..." Kate couldn't find a word for it, so she just stopped right there. A lot of thought had gone into what she was about to say, and this time seemed appropriate. "I'm going back to New York."

Spot looked back up. "What?"

"I said I'm leaving."

"You can't leave."

"Yes I can, and I will. Perhaps you didn't notice, but I've packed my things and I'm going back to where I belong. You should consider the same."

Spot stood up. "Kate, please. I'm sorry. We can't go back."

"I never said you were coming with." She paused. "Maybe we jumped into this too soon."

"No, Kate..." His fingertips lightly touched her cheeks. "I love you. You know that. We're just...just trying to figure out how all of this works, is all."

"I'm not so sure about that, Spot," she said. "I want to go home. You're my husband, so maybe it would be nice if you would come too."

"Okay, we'll go back," Spot said quickly. "Just...not now. Why don't we give it a few more weeks?"

"Because I hate this city, and there is no way I'm going to carry a child here."

"Come on, you don't even know" Spot stopped talking. He had just then processed what Kate had said. "...Child?"

"I think I'm pregnant."

Spot sat back down. "Jesus..." He smiled. "You really think you are?" Kate managed a small grin and nodded. "That's...that's wonderful, that's amazing!" Spot laughed. "We're gonna have a kid!" Kate nodded again, but a gargantuan smile lit up her face. "I don't know what to say."

"Say we can go home."

Spot's smile faded. "You really want to go back?" Kate nodded. "Well, if it'll make you happy"

"It will."

"All right. We'll tie up our loose ends here and...go back to New York."

Kate smiled and gave Spot a soft kiss. "Thank you."

"No problem, sweetheart." He smiled up at her. Kate turned and left the room.

In reality, Spot longed to return to Brooklyn. His dreams were plagued at night by visions of his brothers lost without him. And Southwell, South would return to school if things got bad, Spot assumed. He was a smart kid. There was just something that held Spot back from going home, and he couldn't quite put his finger on it. It was as if a part of him was dreading returning to Brooklyn.

All of Spot's thoughts stopped at the sound of his wife in the other room, coughing violently for the countless time that week. Her coughing finally ceased, but that didn't take Spot off of the edge. Something was very, very wrong.

* * *

RaeHeart problems? Oh no! I'm sending good vibes in your direction. And as for the length of the chapters...you get short ones or none at all! And that's my final offer!

ElyseHaha, "Southy". Too cute. And yes, Cain and Lady are Brooklyn newsies. I'll probably end up explaining them more in future chapters.

PokeyHey, it's all cool. You're welcome! And we'll see what happens to South...I think the ending will suprise you.

PancakesThanks! It's cool that you've just started to read it...it's long, I know. Keep reviewing!

ChelseaThat might just be the longest review EVER. I donno...but it was wonderful, thank you! You are such a dork (but in a good way! always in a good way!)

KPYes, I used him, and I'm probably going to end up using him some more! As for South, well...we'll just have to wait and see what happens.

ButtonsDude, South is just gonna break down. It's gonna be great. I don't think you're gonna be too proud of him soon.

StubbyThank you!

SparksHaha, you are so funny! And why didnt you reivew? Grr, you'd better redeem yourself! Just kidding, you know I totally love you!

Time is a waste of lifeHaha, thanks! Is this a quick enough update for you?

Love97It's cool. I love the double-review. Very nice! And hey, you rock more.

Lady RachI'm obsessed too. I'm still listening to the soundtrack in my car, and all my friends are like, "Dude, let it die." And I'm sitting here all like, "NO! Nubia will never die!" It's great.

REVIEW! DO IT!


	18. Stay and Die

South Emanuel's body passed quickly through the surface of the river. The water was cold at first, but it soon became soothing, numbing against his bare skin. South squinted his eyes open slightly, but it did him no good. There was nothing to see but murky green. His hands touched earth. South let the muddy sand slip through his fingers. He exhaled just slightly and felt the bubbles on his face as they made their way up to the surface. He was running out of air.

South had the sudden urge to die.

_It would be easy_, he told himself. _Save them the trouble._

It was no secret that Michael Parker wanted South's blood. He was the only thing standing in Parker's way of his perfect rule of the Brooklyn territory. Now that Spot's murder was confirmed, South knew that it was only a matter of time before he too would suddenly find himself with mere minutes to live.

_So why not just stick your face in the mud and get it over with?_

Suicide would be the coward's way out. But ever since the night before, as South laid sobbing and broken on the floor of the Brooklyn Newsboys' Lodging House with thirty of his brothers watching awkwardly, he didn't care what anybody thought. So what if he threw away his dignity and honor? Truth be told, South would rather drown on his own accord than die at Parker's hands.

It was too much to think about. South's head felt like it would implode, but that was most likely the lack of oxygen getting to his brain, not the complex decision he was to make. Go and live or stay and die?

His feet pushed off the earth and sent him straight towards the surface of the river. South gasped for breath as his nose and mouth passed the water, and he felt a slight headache. His body was numb; he couldn't move very well. He heard a voice.

"South! That's you down there, right?" South whipped his head around to see who the voice belonged to. His dark hair stuck to his forehead. Lady Buteccelli crouched at the end of the pier, clinging to the edge. "I gotta talk to you. It's important."

"Make it quick."

"No. I mean…up here. In private." Lady breathed in deeply. "Please come up."

South had no problem with Lady. She'd always been a sweet girl with somewhat of a bite, and that's what made her so appealing. However, she lost her appeal to South when she decided to side with Parker at the very beginning of his takeover. He hadn't forgiven her for it yet, and didn't think he would at all. Nevertheless, he would oblige.

South was halfway up the makeshift ladder when he called out, "You better be turned around or eyes closed, Buteccelli. This ain't no peep show."

"One step ahead of you, South," she replied, having already turned her back to where he would be returning. As attractive as South was, she wasn't in the mood to see him in wet under-things.

After pulling on his shirt and knickers (with much hesitation, seeing as how they would be wet in seconds. Usually he dried off first, but he had no towel.), South gave Lady the all-clear. He shook his wet hair with his fingers as he spoke, "What do you want, Lady?"

"You need to leave Brooklyn," she said bluntly. "Today, or tonight. Soon."

"Quit your worryin'."

"He's going to kill you, South!" Lady cried almost desperately. "In two days you'll be dead!"

And what's it to you?" he asked her. "Never seen you care so much about me, or anyone for that matter. You didn't say a word when you learned what Parker was gonna do to Spot." Lady opened her mouth to protest, but he stopped her. "And don't you tell me you didn't know, Buteccelli. On top of a bitch you'd be a liar."

Lady slapped South, resulting in a satisfying sound. "So this is what I get for trying to look out for you!" she growled angrily. "No thanks at all?"

"I ain't a simpleton. I know he's gonna kill me."

This silenced Lady, but only for a moment. "You…you know?" South nodded. "But how?"

"Makes sense, don't it? Now that the boys elected him to lead, nobody really stands against him to do what he feels with his humble subjects. And he doesn't like me very much, I can tell."

"So you're just gonna lie down and die, then."

South shrugged. "Life seems a little overrated at this point. Maybe when your best friends get murdered, you'll get it."

He began to walk past her, but Lady wasn't going to let him leave. "Fine, then. It's obvious you don't care about yourself. But what about your family?"

South stopped walking. "Yeah, what about them?"

"He knows who they are. What they look like, where they live. He'll see that you don't mind dying, and he'll go after them."

_His mother crying, his father dead. Margaret screaming. _"He has no spine. He wouldn't dare."

"Don't be so sure, South," Lady said. "He has power now. He's going to use it."

South's eyes darted from her to the boards of the pier to the river. "So what do you want me to do?"

Lady sighed. "There's a few things you could do. Get your family out of New York, for one. That would work."

"They wouldn't budge."

"Then kill Parker."

Her suggestion caused an intake of breath from South. Eat or be eaten, but he wasn't raised that way. "I'm not a murderer."

"Would you kill him to save yourself?"

"No."

"Your sisters?"

South said nothing for a moment. "I have no choice, do I?"

"No," Lady replied sadly. "You don't."

* * *

Somewhere in Brooklyn near the Newsboys' Lodging House, October Tuesday took his last breath. His skull was fractured, his lip literally split and his ribs broken. Walking from the corpse was Fire, blood staining his hands and a genuine tear in his eye. He'd become a murderer at Michael Parker's command.

_This madness has to stop._

_

* * *

_

I'm baaaaaaack! And I promise you, O my faithful readers, that I will NEVER leave you like that again! I bout of writer's block and the love of my life crippled me for a bit, but I'm back in school for the rest of the summer, so updates will continue! There are no shoutouts today, seeing as how it's actually tomorrow and I am very tired, but I assure you that you will get updates quicker and longer from now on, because this baby has to END! Review! Love! REVIEW MORE!


	19. Really Necessary

Chicago was humid that night. The window in the flat that the Conlons shared was as open as it could be, although that didn't help with the temperature inside. Night was quickly falling. Spot Conlon leaned out of the open window with his last cigarette between his lips. The smoke rose from the vessel into his nostrils and left its scent in Spot's fingers, in his hair.

"Something different 'bout this city," he commented to to his wife, who was occupying herself with laundry. "It doesn't really sit right with me."

"Of course," Kate replied. "You're a Brooklyner, you always will be." She paused. "You remember we agreed...to go back?"

Spot took his cigarette in his fingers and tapped it on the windowsill. Grey ashes fell directly to the street in the dead air."I remember, love." He stuck the cigarette back between his lips. "Gotta save some more money before we can even hop a train." He snorted. "Unless you wanna walk."

"What about the money we got from your friend's parents?" Kate asked. She stopped washing Spot's shirt. "There's gotta be some of that left."

"It's gone, Kate," Spot said as he shook his head. "The train tickets, the apartment, food and candles and cigarettes, and I ain't makin' much here neither."

Kate let the shirt fall in the tub of water and wiped her hands on her skirt. "So we're not going back, then."

Spot turned around to look at her. "I promised we'd go, Kate. Now I ain't gonna break that promise." He returned back to the window. "It's just gonna take some time, that's all."

Sadly, Kate returned to her washing. "We don't_ have_ any time, Spot."

"What was that, love?"

She sighed softly. "Nothing, Spot," Kate was failing. She knew she couldn't last as long as Spot wished her to.

* * *

Fire returned to the Brooklyn Newsboys' Lodging house feeling like an animal. He made his way up the stairs and through one of the bunkrooms to the washroom. He grabbed the bar of soap from atop the sink and scubbed his hands with it vigorously. 'Tober Tuesday's blood loosened its grip on Fire's fingers and spiraled into the drain.

He tried his hands and threw the towel to the floor. Michael Parker was waiting for him as he left the washroom. "So?" Parker asked

"Was that really necessary?" Fire growled.

"Of course it was necessary. Everything I command is necessary."

"I swear to almightly God, Parker, if you don't end this--"

"What are you gonna do about it?"

Fire grabbed Parker's shirt and slammed him against the wall. Parker's fingers dug into Fire's hand that gripped his neck tightly.

"I ain't in this for you, got that? You keep pulling this shit and I'll make sure that you won't be here to hurt any more of our brothers." Fire released Parker, who then gasped for breath. Purple welts from fingernails were already beginning to form on his neck and Fire's hand. The two boys stared at each other for a moment before Parker spoke.

"You're gonna pay for that, Fire."

Fire almost laughed. "When will you realize that you have nothing to threaten me with?" he asked. "You could kill me, Parker, and hell, I'd probably thank you. There is nothing you or any of your brainwashed little boys can do to scare me."

Parker stood up straight, still flustered from Fire's audacity. "Consider yourself my enemy."

With a smirk quite similar to that of Spot Conlon, Fire turned from Parker. "Considered, Michael."

* * *

There's more written, but because I'm so damn tired, I won't be able to post it until later. Deals with South, of course.

Due to time constraints/writer's block/ideas I had to throw away for my sanity, the story will be cut short from what I'd originally planned. Therefore, Spot has less than a month, instead ofa little less than six. Sorry if that upsets anyone...it had to be done!

Pancakes--It's great to BE back! Updates will hopefully continue!

Elyse--I've been all right, just very busy with a new job. But school starts again soon so I'll have time to write in class...hurrah for me!

Chelz--Hey you know me, short updates are my thing! This was supposed to be longer but I am just too tired...but think of it this way: the next update will come quicker! (even though it'll be shorter. hmm.)

Love--I missed writing! And everything's okay with my boy and I. We've sorted everything out and we're actually sort of engaged...interesting, isn't it? I'm very happy!

time is a waste of life--Haha thanks for the welcome back!

Lady Rach--Hey, I'm sure you're doing friggin' awesome. Lady is just...well...Lady. I don't know! It gets worse for South. I'm sad already.

Aier--Haha, I totally love you! Spot will really come back into the picture soon.

Mage Ren--No don't worry, I'm still here! I just went ona very long hiatus. Parker's just an idiot. He's immature and powerhungry, and people are gonna really realize it soon enough. We'll all have to just wait and see!

Buttons--Oh, Buttons, Buttons! So good to hear from you! But don't be sad! The story isn't even over yet!

Adri--Aww, that's really awesome. I sometimes do that too when people don't update...go back and read the whole thing.

Pokey--I'M GLAD TOO! lol. Thanks for the review, it was really suprising since it was so far after the other ones. A nice breath of fresh air!


	20. You

Tony Belgiovini was the youngest of the Brooklyn newsboy force. At seven years old, he had successfully made a name for himself on the street corner downtown on which he sold his papers. Small, adorable, and quick on his feet, Tony made more money in an hour than most of the Brooklyn boys made in an entire day. The kid was a newsie genius; on a good day he could sell near two hundred papers. He could read and write and knew his arithmatic, and yet he'd never attended school. Tony was growing up quickly; he had the age of a child but the maturity of a young adult. Yet all of his maturity meant nothing to him when he stumbled into an alley looking for tin cans and instead found October Tuesday.

He screamed, and ran. He made it about three blocks before he ran right past Mississippi Wayne. 'Sippi grabbed Tony's sleeve and pulled him over. "Whoa there, kid. Where're you goin' so fast?"

"I found something..." Tony started, but he was too out of breath and frightened to finish.

"What'd you find, Tony?" 'Sippi asked. Tony wouldn't answer; he looked to be on the verge of tears. "Tony, what did you find?" The boy still wasn't answering. Mississippi knelt down to Tony's eye level, put his hands on both of the child's shoulders, and gently stared him down. "Show me what you found."

October didn't weigh more than a hundred pounds, so it wasn't difficult for Mississippi to carry him back to the lodging house. He recieved a few odd stares in the broad daylight, but convinced worried strangers that his "cousin had fainted." Nobody seemed to notice the blood.

Mississippi had sent Tony back to the house ahead of him, giving strict instructions not to say anything of what he'd found and to go straight up to the bunkroom and sit on his bed. 'Sippi wasn't a fool. He'd been watching the slow but sure rift that had grown between the two sides of Brooklyn newsboys, and he had watched Ethan Cooke die because of it. Mississippi knew that he had to be smart when bringing in October, lest a fight should break out.

South was sitting on the dilapidated couch in the lobby of the lodging house, biting the whites of his fingernails off. He'd been doing quite a lot of thinking during the past day and a half since he'd spoken with Lady. A plan was forming in his head. It wasn't a very good plan, but he'd benefit from it in any case. South was thrown off from his thinking, however, when Tony Belgiovini ran into the house and straight up the stairs without saying a single word.

He stood from the couch and slowly walked upstairs. Many of the boys were in the bunkrooms playing cards and chatting in the main upstairs hallway. It was the downtime of the day, after the peddling of the afternoon edition of whichever paper they chose to sell. South briefly tried to remember which bunkroom Tony kept his bed in, and figured it out pretty quickly. The two bedrooms had been divided completely within the past week: Parker's boys in one, Conlon's supporters in the other. Tony wasn't involved in any of the politics; he just plain didn't understand it. That being the case, South immediately made sure that Tony wasn't anywhere near Michael Parker at any given time, ever.

The boy was sitting cross-legged on his bed, his hands folded on his ankles and his head tilted downwards. South walked to Tony and sat down next to him on the bed, putting his hands on his knees. "Something wrong, squirt?" he asked as playfully as he could. Tony vigorously shook his head no. "You ran up here pretty quick. Nobody was chasin' you, right?" Again, he shook his head. "You gonna be all right?" South revieved a yes, but still no words. "All right then...make sure you eat something tonight, kid."

South stood up and walked away from the bed towards the door. Just as he stepped through the doorframe, Tony spoke. "South?"

He turned around. "Yeah Tony?"

"What's happening around here? And where's Spot?"

It was enough to make your heart break. South simply managed a weak smile. "I donno, Tony...Ask me again later sometime."

At that moment, Mississippi entered the lodging house carrying October's body. "South!" he yelled. "South!"

Nathan heard this, and confusedly but hurriedly returned downstairs to the lobby. "What is it?" He stopped with just a few steps left to go when he saw what 'Sippi held in his arms. "Is he--?"

"Tony found him," 'Sippi replied lowly. "Ain't no suicide."

South finished the rest of the stairs and stared at 'Tober. "Put him down," he ordered quietly as he covered his mouth with one of his hands. He was torn between pure hate and entire anguish. There were no questions as to who was behind the death, but who was the murderer? South still had faith in the fact that Parker had no spine, so he couldn't believe for a minute that Michael had killed 'Tober.

A small crowd had started to form around the body, which was exactly what Mississippi didn't want to happen. Fire stood on the outside of the circle, not wanting to witness for a second time what 'Tober looked like when he was dead.

South lowered his hand from his mouth. "Who did this?" he asked. His voice was quiet, but it was clear that he was questioning all in the room. "Who's responsible?"

Fire didn't want to speak up. He had always been on South's side, and so he naturally felt like a monster for what he had done for a man he hated. But as he rubbed his temples out of stressful habit, Fire knew he had to own up to his mistakes, even if the consequences were less than what he wanted. He gently pushed his way through the growing crowd to South. Fire couldn't look him in the eye.

"I killed him."

All eyes were on South. His arms were folded across his chest, his gaze fixed on 'Tober. He tried to supress the anger, but he was doing a very poor job of it. His breathing became quicker, and what was left of his fingernails dug into his skin. He finally snapped and hit Fire down to the floor.

"You son of a bitch!" he screamed as he grabbed Fire's collar. "You God-damned son of a bitch!"

Fire tried to pull South's hands from his clothing. "South, please--" He was hit a second time before some of the boys pulled South off of him. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Fire got to his knees and grabbed South's hands. He kissed them once earnestly, and then, unable to look at South, closed his eyes and held the hands against his forehead. "It was a mistake," he managed to say. "I should have never listened to that fucking--" He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. You gotta forgive me, South. I'm not a murderer. You know that. I messed up...bad. I deserve whatever punishment you see fit." He took another deep breath and exhaled. "But I need your forgiveness, South. Please."

South didn't know what to say. His anger was dying away, and sadness was the replacement. He took his hands from Fire's grip and knelt down with him. "How could you do it, Fire?" he asked quietly. "How could anyone do it? We're supposed to be brothers." Fire couldn't answer him, but something inside of South understood. He put his hands on the sides of Fire's face and pulled him close, touching Fire's forehead with his own. "I need your help, Fire," he whispered desperately. "We're running out of time. I can't do this alone. Are you with me?"

"To the death."

"You're forgiven." South stood up and looked around him. Twenty or so confused faces stared back at him. None of them knew what to do. One boy stood alone at the stairs, unable to express with his face or body how he felt. It was a mixture of pride, fear, excitement, anger...everything. Michael Parker felt so many emotions, he could hardly keep track of them. South caught his gaze, and narrowed his eyes instinctively. The anger was returning. Only one word escaped his lips:

"_You_."

* * *

Happy 20th Chapter, readers! Thanks for sticking with me all this time! 

But where were the reviews this past chapter? I'm so sad! However, my reviewers get extra-awesome shoutouts and (of course) a choco-covered newsie of their choice.

Rae--Oh, I'm sure you'll be fine. Does it help if I tell you that this chapter took me three hours to write? I've been sitting in my basement for so long and its now 3 am...I'm trying to go for quality, not quantity.

Elyse--Kate is sick! That's all I got for now. As for Ethan...I'm thinking we'll see a little bit more of him. I work at the Great American Cookie Company in the mall in my city. Yeah...I make cookies all day! Its pretty sweet. And yes, I am looking forward to school. I'll be a senior in high school now, and I'm so ready to just get it over with!

Love--And I'm glad to hear from you! Yes, the end is near, and I'm hoping it'll live up to the expectations I've set by the rest of the story. I'm sure it'll be fine, though. I've got confidence enough in myself! And thanks for being understanding about the quicker end...It'll be a year since I've started writing this story in about a month, and that is a very long time to stay commited to something like this! Ahh...I can't wait!

Chelsea--Well an update is an update! You know me...my updates are never that long anyways! This one was longer than the last one, though, so that's good. And YES, South IS teh sex. At least, that's how I imagine him to be...really really incredibly attractive. He is a rich boy, after all.

Pancakes--I know! It's really sad! He's just too cute...I hate to make him go! But it'll be really freakin awesome, I promise. We'll be sad, but we'll all be like, woah, that was the coolest ending ever. (I hope.)

REVIEW! Oh my god, review. That's my fuel--reviews. I've got some really great ideas but I can't go through with them if I don't hear what you guys think of what I've been putting out. So click that button, write a sentence or two, and let me know what you think while you still can!

Oh and after Amusing Lies is done...I'm thinkin' its time for a superhero story. I've got ideas already...The Newsboy. And I know who it'll be, too. It just seems to perfect.

All right! Sleep! But you go REVIEW!


	21. Scream

Spot's dreams often carried him away from his reality. Easy to believe, since that's what dreams often do. Sometimes one even finds it difficult to grasp that dreams are just in our minds as we sleep. Spot knew he was dreaming, and yet he found it extremely complicated to tell himself that what he was seeing was not, in fact, the truth.

"You really gotta stop blaming yourself," Ethan Cooke told him in his sleep, "for what happened."

"I shoulda done something," Spot countered. "Shoulda said something. But I just stood there."

"You did what any guy would do. That's acceptable. I can't...well, everybody can't…expect anything more than your best. That's why you were always such a great leader, Spot. You gave those boys your best."

"I tried."

"Not anymore though, huh?"

Ethan always had a way of putting Spot in his place, even in death. "So you think I should go back."

"I guess so." Ethan chuckled a bit. "I mean, I think you never shoulda left in the first place. Kinda cowardly, don't you think?"

This angered Spot. "I ain't no coward, Ethan, I'm a Conlon—"

"If you're a Conlon, then get off your ass and start acting like a God damned Conlon! Jesus Christ, you'd think that the most powerful kid in New York City could stand up to a stupid punk and his ambitions."

"Stupid punk?" Spot asked, aghast. "Stupid punk? Ethan, that 'stupid punk' killed you! He fucking murdered you in front of everybody! You died in my fucking arms! How the hell do you expect me to react to that? You wanted me to be, what, _heroic_? And, and avenge you in some sort of gallant epic battle? Or did you just want me to crush the son of a bitch's skull right there? What the _hell_ did you want from me?" Spot brought himself back. "I was scared, all right? I was scared for once in my life. You were slipping away from me so fast, I didn't know what to do. It seemed so…so _final_. Like you'd be gone in seconds and I couldn't do anything about it." He paused. "…Couldn't do anything about it."

You could almost see the light bulb above Spot's head as he looked up. "Wait a minute." He stared at Ethan. "I really was powerless. There was absolutely nothing I could do to stop what happened to you. And…" He couldn't finish; he was thinking.

"Go on…" Ethan encouraged.

"And a lot of the time I have no control over what happens to other people. But for once in my life, right now, at this moment…I have the power to save Brooklyn. And that's…" he laughed. "That's pretty damn amazing."

In death, Ethan gave Spot the most genuine, beautiful smile a man could ever give in life. "Good morning, Spot."

Chicago, eight o'clock in the morning, the Conlons' tiny apartment in the middle of the city. Spot's eyes snapped open, and he found himself staring at the dingy ceiling.

_It was a dream_, he told himself sadly. And yet it had seemed too real to be just a dream. Spot quickly sat up and got out of bed. "Kate, wake up," he said loud enough to wake her from her sleep. He was pulling on clothes as he found them in the room. "We gotta go."

But Kate didn't stir. Spot looked back at her. "Kate, love, wake up," he said, getting closer to the bed. He put a hand on her face, but removed it as soon as he touched her skin. Kate's cheek felt warm to the touch—too warm, and damp. In fact, her face was so wet that the hairs around her forehead were matted to her skin with sweat. Yes, it was a warm night, but not that warm. Not sickeningly warm.

Spot panicked. He didn't know what to do. By instinct, he shook her gently and spoke her name, but received no reply. He put his ear to her chest, and breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the faint beating of her heart. He straightened himself and looked down at her. "Please, Kate," he begged softly as he brushed her hair away from her forehead. "I don't know what's wrong with you. I'm going to get help." He paused. "But please—_please_ don't leave me." Spot inhaled deeply. "I need you."

* * *

Complete and utter hatred blinded South Emmanuel. All he could see was Parker, all he could feel was the handle of the knife tucked visibly into his belt. His plan? Clearly, he meant to combine what he could see with what he could feel.

Parker stood at the foot of the stairs. His fingers slowly wrapped themselves around the pistol concealed in his vest. South walked towards him slowly at first, but quickened his pace as he went. He was yelling, absolutely screaming in rage. He pulled the knife from his belt and pointed it at Parker, intent on cutting him into as many pieces necessary to stop him from hurting the people he loved.

But as he neared his target, he suddenly and brutally remembered that Parker's followers were all around him. He felt a hand grab his wrist and twist it; heard a crack and felt extreme pain gather where dirty fingernails were digging into his skin. The knife dropped to the floor, as did South. The hand released his wrist, and immediately South cradled his broken bone with his other arm. Another hand (possibly the same as the wrist-breaker, he couldn't tell) grabbed a fistful of South's hair and yanked backwards. He closed his eyes and let out a cry when his arms went to grab the hand, half because his scalp burned and half because he forgot about his wrist. When he opened his eyes, he found himself staring into the barrel of a gun.

"I'm impressed," Parker told South as he stared down at him, pistol in hand. "I never thought you would actually step up and make a move. You've exceeded all my expectations."

South wanted to scream, he wanted to cry back and yell and murder, but all he could do was concentrate on the metal cylinder that was fixed squarely between his eyes. He didn't want to admit it, but he was scared—so scared, in fact, that he found himself repeating his Hail Marys in his head. He was going to die.

Parker could sense his fear. How could he not? It was pretty obvious. He almost laughed. "You think I'm gonna kill you, Emmanuel?" he asked. "What makes you believe that I'd waste even one bullet on _you_?" He chuckled and shook his head. "No, you won't die tonight. But I'll tell you one thing." Parker paused and smiled sadistically. "It really is a shame that you pretty sisters have to be killed because you just wouldn't give up your precious Brooklyn."

"No—" The hand yanked South's hair harder.

"I'm sorry, South, but I don't think you're capable of learning from your mistakes." Parker lowered his pistol and addressed the owner of the hand. "Keep him here, and damn it, watch him, all right? Don't let the bastard of your sight." He paused for thought. "Break his other wrist too, while you're at it."

"No!" South objected as Parker stepped past him towards the door. "Jesus Christ, Parker! You're completely insane…this is madness!" His pleas grew more frantic as Parker got closer to the door. "They're innocent, my God! Please! _Please_!"

South's cries were cut short by the hands that grabbed his other wrist. The boys of Brooklyn watched in shock as South's wrist was slowly bent backwards and finally snapped.

You could hear the scream in Manhattan.

* * *

Ahh I hate me. I'll admit that I might just be the meanest person in the world! But it's all for the best. Yes...all for the best...breaks down into a sobbing mess

Super-huge thanks to ALL of my reviewers! You guys make my day! I LOVE EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU! So continue to review, because reviews make me happy and happy more writing.

But right now me sleep. So...yes. REVIEW!


	22. Savior

Disclaimer: Lady does not belong to me. And, seeing as how I lost all of my records of people who gave me characters and just have the profiles, I can't tell you who she belongs to. But you know who you are, and if you'll let me know, that would rock a whole bunch so I can credit you! Hooray!

* * *

Lady was not, by any means, an athlete. Her body wasn't trained to endure such physical strain as the sprint from Brooklyn to Manhattan. Her feet hit the pavement, left then right, sending jolts of pain up through her legs. Her knees and ankles cried out from the strain of continually hitting the cobblestones. Her lungs burned. As she crossed the bridge, the wind whipped her hair into her eyes and with a cry, she tripped--flesh tore from her knees and the palms of her hand. She picked herself up and continued.

The lives at steak kept her moving. Ten minutes earlier Lady had walked into the Brooklyn Newsboys' Lodging House, seen South cradling broken wrists as Fire kept the rogue boys at bay. Had he stepped aside, they would have beaten South to death. Fire's knife was out and pointed at whichever boy took a step forward. All stopped when she opened the door.

Lady was taken aback for a moment, but then asked, "Where's Michael?" South let out a cry from what Lady assumed was pain, but it was much deeper than what had physically happened to him.

Fire glanced her way for only a moment; he was sure to keep his eyes on the rest of the boys in the room. "Emmanuels," he said simply as he gave her another look--meaningful, urgent, pleading. Lady looked down at South. He was cradled on the floor, apparently unable to pick himself up. "Take him," Fire said without looking at her. As overwhelmed as she was, Lady couldn't move. She only stared at the pathetic boy on the floor.

A few seconds passed. Fire glanced back at Lady once more, but only for a second. "Why are you still here?" he demanded of her.

"But what about--"

"Lady!" he yelled. The noise startled her, but she moved towards South anyway.

The tension in the room was unbearable. All eyes were on her, save Fire's, as she went down to aid South. As he took his arm to pull him up a yell rose from the newsies in protest, which Fire silenced with his own loud cry. Lady struggled to bring South to his feet, then quickly pulled him from the house as more shouts began.

"You need a doctor," she told South as she dug into her pockets for money. They were walking, but didn't have any set destination. They both knew that they just had to get away from the lodging house.

"Lady, no, we have to go," South protested.

"You want to get out of Brooklyn?" she asked, confused, as she produced a few quarters and dimes.

"No. My family. Parker's going after my family."

"But your hands--"

"They can wait. We gotta catch up to them."

Lady shook her head. "You can't, South," she said. "You're hurt. If you ran into him you wouldn't last five minutes."

A hundred thoughts were running through her head at once. Lady never wanted to be pulled in to this whole mess. She didn't want to be a hero. But this was too much; Parker had taken a step too far.

"I'll go."

With a firm inhale, she shoved her money into South's pocket. "Get yourself fixed up, I'll go catch up with Parker and try to stop him." She bit her lip. "I'll come find you when…when I'm finished."

"Lady--"

But she was already gone, running down the street towards the Brooklyn Bridge. She had only been near South's house once years ago, before he went off to school, before all his bullshit that plagued Brooklyn began. She wasn't sure she'd be able to remember where the house was. But as she ran the streets, they became more and more familiar to her. She spotted landmarks--street names, buildings, and signs that told her she was going the right way. It wasn't until she turned onto the Emmanuels' street that she saw Parker and his gang.

She was absolutely out of breath. The house was still another two blocks ahead. Lady stopped running and breathed deeply, trying to compose herself a bit before she approached Parker. Had she not been so full of adrenaline, she would have collapsed right then and there.

As she watched him slowly walk further away from her, memories flashed in her mind of their friendship--the young age at which they met, selling papers together on their corner, tag and hide-and-seek and childish games, a budding romance cut down by their own embarrassment of being together. She remembered the day he told her he was going to take over Brooklyn, and how she supported him not just because he was her best friend, but also because Spot Conlon was beginning to lose his nerve. She cursed herself for ever having supported his ridiculous cause.

Parker's gang was now a block away from the Emmanuel house. She was running out of time. Lady pushed herself forward and ran to catch up with Parker.

"Michael!" she yelled as soon as she was close enough. "Wait up!"

Michael Parker turned and smiled when he saw her running towards him, dismissing the fact that she called him Michael. She never called him Michael. "Lady, you're just in time," he said. "It's a good thing you're here. You were gonna miss all the fun."

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Michael?" Lady asked him. "You can't do this, you'll be throwing away your entire future." He gave her a skeptical look. "Killing worthless street kids is one thing, but murdering their wealthy families is something completely different! You know that!"

There was a beat. Parker turned to the three who were with him and sighed. "Take a minute, boys. Relax." He grabbed Lady's arm and pulled her out of earshot.

"Ouch…let go, Michael," she protested, and wrenched her arm away from his grasp.

"You can't do this to me, Lady," he told her firmly in a hushed voice. "If I'm gonna pull this takeover off, I need respect. I can't get respect when I'm taking orders from some dame."

"Some dame? Is that all I am to you?"

"Listen, you know I care about you, you know we're friends. I have to do this."

"No, you don't!"

Parker snapped. "Maria, either you shut your mouth or I'll be forced to do something I really don't wanna do."

Lady took a shaky breath. The beginnings of tears stung her eyes, but she pushed them back. "You're completely mad," she whispered. "You're jumping into this…you don't have a plan."

"That ain't true--"

"Of course its true! You have no idea what you're gonna do after you've destroyed--"

Parker quickly raised his fist, and Lady winced, but no blows came down on her. His arm remained raised for a few moments, and with a sigh he lowered it. "I'm sorry, Lady," he said, pulling her head towards his. He lightly kissed her forehead, then pressed it to his own. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Lady feared the worst. Michael was acting so strangely--she didn't doubt that he'd kill her. But he didn't do anything. Instead, he walked away from her, back to the three boys who had, in that time, pulled out weapons. She had to do something; her time was running dangerously low. She followed them for half a block when a light in the window caused her to realize something.

This neighborhood was full of people. They weren't alone. And it was a pretty high-class neighborhood, too. The upper class called the police at any sign of danger.

Her plan was crazy. Parker would probably hurt her, but she couldn't just walk away defeated. People were counting on her to save them and they didn't even know it.

She took a deep breath, and screamed as loud as she possibly could. She heard a gunshot, but felt no pain, so she screamed again. A feeling of satisfaction washed over her as she saw more lights in the windows of the houses around them. Parker was yelling, and his gang dispersed in different directions away from the Emmanuel house. Lady couldn't help but smile.

Her smile was wiped away, however, when she realized Parker was running towards her. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her away from the light of the streetlamps and into the shadows, but he didn't stop there. His fingernails painfully dug into her skin as they both ran back towards Brooklyn.

"Parker--"

"Don't you say a fucking word."

It was at that moment that Lady knew she was in a lot of trouble.

* * *

FINALLY! Hello again! After writing Incarceration, my writer's block completely disappeared and I came up with this! And it got me to thinkingthat we only have, like, five or so chapters of this thing to go. Sad! Oh well. I was writing this and it wasn't until the end that I realized thatLady in this chapteris alot like Eponine from Les Mis, in the song before One Day More.I'm a geek, but I didn't do it on purpose! REVIEW! I'll be getting back to all my reviews for last chaptersoon, so we'll see how that goes. but REVIEW! 


	23. God Be With You

Okay.I got over some MAJOR writer's block today. So after, like,six months (wow), here's an update for you. I AM SO SORRY! Haha, I just didn't know where to go with this, and then I forgot it, and now here I am again. So hopefully (cross your fingers) I'll be able to update again sometime between the next week, because I actually have the rest of this story planned out and ready to go. It's taking a lot longer than I thought it would! Oh well.

I'm getting back to reviews right now, so leave one and I might just reply back to you! Ooooo, I know. Exciting. Enjoy!

EDIT! I edited a few things...oops. See if anyone can make out the dumb mistake I made because I haven't read the first few chapters of my own damn story in a very long time...mostly it's a repetition. Yeah...way to go, Utopia. You're a smart one. Oh well...easy fix. Love you guys!

* * *

By the time Spot returned to their apartment without help, Kate was gone. 

And I don't mean that in the sense that she was dead. She was just gone. Her few belongings were nowhere in sight, her shoes missing. Spot stood and stared at the room for a good two or three minutes, soaking in the stillness in the air, the vacancy.

It took him a while to realize that Kate had never been sick. She loved him, yes, but they were young and she was afraid of the future. Afraid of being married to a man she hardly knew.

She left no note, no explanation or reasoning. Standing there in the doorway, Spot passed from confusion, to anger, to sadness, and back again.

_She's left you._

But there was no time to deal with it. Spot scrambled around the small room for a piece of paper and a pencil. Upon finding them, he pressed the paper against the wall and began to write.

"South. In Chicago," he said along with his scratchy writing. "Coming back to Brooklyn. Sorry. I'll explain. Spot."

He folded the letter and stuffed it in his pocket. The next few minutes were spent rushing around, packing what he could into his suitcase. He folded nothing, took no care in placing his belongings. Spot had made a mistake. He needed to go home and fix things as soon as he could.

Spot ran out of the apartment, leaving what he couldn't pack. He mailed the letter, hoping it would reach Brooklyn before he did. Reaching into his pocket to make sure the last of his money was still there, Spot Conlon quickly made his way to the train station.

It did not once occur to him that things had changed immensely since he left.

* * *

Parker pushed open the door to the Brooklyn Newsboys' Lodging House with such force that everyone in the lobby was startled. The door slammed against the wall. Fire was still holding his ground, now completely surrounded by angry boys. Those still loyal to Spot Conlon sure weren't showing their feelings, as Fire was still very alone. 

All heads turned towards Parker in the doorway. Still attached was Lady, who until just then was trying to pry Parker's fingers from her wrist. She looked up and took a deep breath.

Parker took just a moment to take in the scene in front of him. Fire in the middle of the room, holding a knife. Twenty others around him. All staring at Parker. "What the hell is going on here?" He paused. "Where's South?"

"Lady--" Fire started, but during that brief break in his focus, he was knocked to the ground and the knife was pried from his hands.

"South's gone, Michael," one said as he roughly pulled Fire to his feet.

"Yes, well I can see that," Parker replied shortly. He whipped Lady around in front of him and let go of her wrist. She retreated back to Fire, who stood protectively behind her. She pulled her arm close to her, gently rubbing the bruises that had already formed.

Having deemed the situation incredibly awkward, Parker glanced at the rest of the boys in the room. "Go upstairs," he ordered. "Stay upstairs."

As the boys moved, those who had been with Parker on his murder mission returned within moments of each other. Chase Flanagan, Parker's new right hand, appeared last. "What's the story?"

If you know the stereotypical image of the huge tough guy, picture that. That'd be Chase. The man was muscular, intimidating, and just plain frightening. He could kill you with one blow. That's just the way he was. And it just so happened that Parker thought Chase would be the perfect right hand, and Chase agreed. So long as he didn't turn against him, Michael Parker would be safe.

Parker didn't answer him. His focus alternated from Lady to Fire, back and forth, slowly. He breathed in deeply. He was doing all he could not to lose his temper.

"I've had it with you two," he said quietly. "Both of you…You're on my side one minute, and against me the next."

Lady opened her mouth to speak, but Parker put his hand up. "Don't say anything." She closed her mouth and took a tiny step back into Fire. He put his hands on her shoulders. _Everything will be fine_, he though to her. _You're safe._

"You know, I thought you two would be all right. There was no question in my mind, Lady, that you would stay with me during this whole thing. We go way back, remember?" Lady said nothing. She didn't move. "I mean…you advised against all of this, but that didn't bother me. I thought you were just worried about everything working out the way I wanted it to." He laughed a bit. "It did, by the way…work out."

"Get to the point, Parker," Fire snapped.

"See now that's the kind of attitude that really upsets me, Fire," Parker said, taking a step forward. As he did, both Fire and Lady stepped back. Parker chuckled. "Are you afraid? Is that why you're backing away? Do you think I'm gonna hurt you?"

Fire nodded with a hint of sarcasm. "Yeah, that's the impression we're getting."

"All right, then. Have it your way." Lady tensed against Fire. As Chase began to move towards the two of them, Fire stepped in front of her, intending to protect her as best he could.

Just before Chase could reach them, Parker cut in. "Chase. Boys. Take him outside."

Chase paused for a moment, slightly annoyed. He quickly got over it and walked towards the door. "Let's go, Fire," he said over his shoulder before following the other few boys outside.

Fire turned to Lady. He didn't know what to say to her. She too was at a loss for words. He put his hands on her shoulder and pulled her close to him. Fire wanted her to stay alive, never mind the fact that they were never good friends. "If I die…" he started lowly, but didn't want to think about it. "Run. Find South. Don't come back. Understand?"

"Move it, Fire!" Chase called from just outside the door. Fire glanced over his shoulder, then returned to Lady.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Good." He paused once more, and then before turning to leave, "God be with you."

Lady watched him leave. As he exited the building, her eyes moved ever so slightly onto Parker, who was still standing there in front of her. He closed the door behind him just as Fire hit the ground, leaving the shattered best-friendship standing in silence.

* * *

South Emmanuel had been huddled in that alley for close to an hour. He had started to go for help, but then realized he didn't know where to go in Brooklyn. And on top of that, it made sense for him to hide out for a little while, just to get more people off the street before he could continue. 

His wrists hurt. One, his right, was quite clearly broken. It took him awhile to realize that his left wrist would be fine--not broken, just sprained or twisted. It didn't hurt nearly as bad as the right one. Nothing a day or two couldn't cure.

The night dragged on. It was getting late. If he didn't move, South would spend the night in the alley. But the problem was that he had no idea where to go.

He was worried about his family of course, but he didn't want to go to the house. Part of him believed if he went, someone would follow. Another part was afraid they were dead. And still another part didn't want to trouble them.

If South went home, told his parents what the problem in Brooklyn was, and asked for their help, the police would have Michael Parker arrested in an hour and the whole thing would be over. But for some reason South himself didn't understand, he didn't want his parents' help. He didn't want them involved at all. So instead of taking the easy (and logical) way out, he was just going to have to suffer for awhile.

Then suddenly it clicked. Manhattan. Of course! He'd call in a favor, they'd help him. Manhattan was shit for fighting, but scored high on hospitality. Carefully South picked himself up off the ground and after glancing around out of the alley, just to be safe, began the long and arduous trip to Manhattan.


	24. To the End

The silence was unbearable to both Lady and Parker, but there wasn't much to say anyways. That didn't make the time to any faster, however, and it seemed as if hours had passed before Lady opened her mouth and spoke.

"You're not gonna let them kill him…are you?" she asked quietly, her voice breaking at first. Parker didn't move; he didn't speak. Lady tried again. "Fire didn't do nothing wrong, Mikey, he doesn't deserve—"

"Don't."

That single word was enough to create another few minute of silence between the two friends. It was Parker who broke it next.

"You know, I thought you'd be with me on this one," he said. Lady couldn't tell if he was angry or hurt, or perhaps both. "I figured you and me…I thought maybe because we're, you know…what you and me been through together…"  
Parker was surprised he couldn't put words to his thoughts. He couldn't come up with what he wanted to say so it would sound good; so he would sound in control. He couldn't do it. So instead he just blurted out his thoughts as best he could. "You're so God damn stupid, Lady, you could have had everything, we could have taken this together, and you went and fucked everything up! You stupid, worthless, ungrateful bitch—"

Before he even realized what he had done, Parker was mere inches away from Lady who stood silently. Tears began to well up in her eyes.

Michael Parker, too, was crying.

He hadn't shed a tear in years. Vicious words spoken in the heat of an argument, a struggle, his brother's blood on his hands and his shirt and his face—an accident.

Parker felt his tears slide down his cheeks and linger, just for a moment, on his chin, before hitting his chest. He moved a hand up to Lady's face. He touched her hair.

She stood there in silence, staring at him. His hands wrapped around her neck.

"Mikey…"  
He couldn't bring himself to do it, but his hands remained.

"Mikey, don't."

Her eyes pierced into his—Michael couldn't break the gaze between them. His hands kept a firm grip on her neck, but he couldn't bring himself to stop her breath. He couldn't kill his best friend.

Lady, on the other hand, had thought fast. Her hands already reached into Parker's vest—she had seen him tuck his knife away enough times to know where it would be.

She loved him, yes. Of course she did. They grew up together. Lady couldn't quite explain it, but she felt she had to end her friend's life before he took hers.

Cold metal touched her fingertips. Michael didn't notice a thing. "Lady, I have to," he said. His fingers twitched. He broke their gaze and stared at his hands, at her neck.

"I know," Lady replied. Almost home free. Her tears had stopped. "I know."

"I'm—" Suddenly Parker's eyes snapped back up to Lady. He felt something touching his side. Something that should not have been there.

Both of their reactions happened so fast, it was hard for either of them to comprehend exactly what had happened. After a brief moment they were apart from each other on opposite sides of the room, although this time Lady was just a few short feet from the door.

Michael backed up against the wall. His shirt was cut, but he felt no pain. He let his hands probe to the bottom of his ribcage, and felt something wet.

Blood. His blood. The pain rushed at him, but he let his hands explore the wound. He had to know how bad it was.

Lady dropped the knife and wiped the tears from her cheeks. "I'm sorry, Mikey," she said quietly before bolting out the door. She would head for Manhattan, run, and find South—just like Fire had told her to. Fire, who may or may not be dead. There wasn't any time to find out.

Michael hardly heard her. She hadn't cut him very deeply. He'd survive. He just couldn't take his eyes off of the blood.

Michael Parker fell. His knees had grown weak, and he couldn't find the strength to stand. The sight of his own blood was too much for him. He knelt there for a minute or two, bleeding, before losing consciousness and falling to the ground.

It wouldn't be long before Chase and the rest of the boys returned to the building and found Parker lying there. His knife was still on the floor right where Lady had dropped it near the door. Chase was the first to speak. "Bandages, and hot water," he said. "Get him upstairs. And one of you follow that bitch."

"Where's she headed?" one of the boys asked. Chase knew exactly where Lady would go.

"She's going to meet up with South," he said. "They're going to Manhattan."

* * *

The sun was just starting to show up when South reached his destination. He'd had a long night. It was difficult for him to get out of Brooklyn unseen, and so he'd taken the long way—the back alleys and dark streets—to get to the bridge. And even after that, it was no piece of cake. His feet hurt, his legs hurt, his wrist and his head and his chest hurt. Nothing seemed to be right. 

But he made it, and just in time to run into Jack Kelly as Manhattan's unofficial leader was on his way out of the Manhattan Newsboys' Lodging House to buy the day's newspapers, flanked by Racetrack and Kid Blink.

Jack didn't quite recognize South when he saw him first. He did a genuine double-take. It had been a long time since he'd seen the young man, having been in Manhattan while South enjoyed spending most of his time in Brooklyn, and then at school. He let South come to him.

"Jack Kelly," he said as he approached. He held out his good arm, inviting a handshake. "South Emanuel. From—"  
"Brooklyn, yeah, I know," Jack replied, accepting the shake. "You…you look terrible." And he wasn't lying. South looked near dead. "To tell you the truth I thought you'd left New York."

"Yeah…would have been smart, huh?" South managed a smile. "Can we talk? Inside, I mean."

By the tone in South's voice, Jack knew that something was definitely wrong. By inviting South inside, he would also be inviting trouble. Sensing Jack's wariness, South got a little closer and spoke. "I'm calling in a favor, Kelly," he said, almost with intimidation. "Brooklyn helped you out, and since Spot ain't here, I'm claiming what's his. Inside, huh?"

Blink took a step in and placed his hand on South's chest to push him away from Jack, but was surprised when instead of letting him, Kelly put his hand on Blink's arm. "He's fine, Kid," Jack said. He met eyes with South. "Inside, then."

* * *

After what seemed like ages, Spot Conlon was almost home. 

He'd arrived in Manhattan early that morning, just before the sun rose. He figured it was a good idea to stop there first before heading back to Brooklyn, although he didn't know why. Something told him it would be best. Spot wasn't usually a man to go by his first instinct, but this time he decided to listen to what he was telling himself and make a stop in Jack Kelly's territory.

Within a few minutes, Spot was standing in front of the Manhattan Newsboy's Lodging House. He knew there wouldn't be many boys there. After all, it was that time of the morning—that busy rush to get your papers and be the first on the street to sell them. But he'd figure he'd stop by anyways, get some water, have a chat, and see what was up in the city since he'd been there.

Spot opened the door slowly. He heard voices right inside, in the lobby.

_Good_, he thought to himself. _Somebody to talk to._

He walked through the doorway and came up right behind someone who looked incredibly familiar from the back. He couldn't put his finger on it that moment, but he didn't have to. Jack Kelly was in front of this person, and facing Spot. His eyes widened, and he stopped saying whatever it is he was talking to this other guy about.

"Hey Jacky-boy, shouldn't you be out making a living?" Spot asked him jokingly, but he received no laugh in return. He didn't even get a hello.

Jack couldn't find words. Spot was dead. They'd all heard about it a while ago. There wasn't a body, but the key he'd always worm was stained in blood, and had shown up in Michael Parker's possession. That was enough to make anybody believe it was true. No one ever questioned Parker about it, especially not anybody from Manhattan. Brooklyn's affairs were not their concern.

At the sound of Spot's voice, South turned around. He had been standing right in front of him, talking with Jack about Brooklyn's situation. The sight of his dead friend right there, two feet away from him, struck him frozen.

"Jesus Christ…" he whispered.

"South…" Spot was confused. "What are you doing here? What's going on?"

It was Jack who spoke first. "You're dead, Spot," he said simply. It wasn't a question. It sounded almost informative. "You've been dead for a little while."

"Clearly I ain't dead, Kelly," he replied. "What the hell is going on around here?"

South still didn't know what to say. The word of Spot's death had hit him hard, and seeing him alive was almost too much. He felt tears forming, but he didn't care. He let them come.

"Are you crying, South?"

"Where the hell have you been?" South asked as he took a step towards Spot. He grabbed him and hugged him—tightly.

"South?"

He didn't move for a few moments. He stood there, sobbing freely, holding onto Spot as if for dear life. The pain in his wrist was nothing—he couldn't even feel it.

After a little bit, Spot brought his arms up around South and held him. He was starting to suspect what had happened while he was away. It wasn't far-fetched that Parker would fake Spot's death and claim responsibility for it. In fact, he should have expected it of him.

So then Brooklyn must have been lost.

The two stood there for over a minute. Spot closed his eyes. "We're going after him, South," he said after a while of silence. Nathan broke the embrace.

"What?"

"Just what I said. We're going after that son of a bitch."

"Brooklyn's gone, Spot," South said. "We're not gonna get it back."

"This ain't about Brooklyn no more. This is about us. About Ethan."

The sound of their dead friend's name struck something in South. "All right. Let's do it."

"I'm in this to the end, Nate," Spot said. "You can back out if you want."

"No, never." South put a hand firmly on Spot's shoulder. "I'm with you." Spot smiled and, for the first time in a long time, so did South.

As of that moment, Spot Conlon had merely twenty-four hours to live.

* * *

Sorry for any errors…this was really hastily typed and put-together. I just wanted to get it up, it's been in my head for a while now (few months…haha) and I wanted to put up a chapter. Long enough update? Haha aaanyways! Thank you SO MUCH to madmbutterfly, Allie, Cakes, Mage Ren, Elyse, GN, and HogwardsNewsie for your reviews! I LOVE reviews! 

And a special thanks to Rae and Buttons, who have been reviewing pretty consistently since the beginning, over two years ago. WOW. You guys rock, so much...words can not describe your coolness.

So in conclusion…REVIEW! ALL OF YOU! If you review, maybe it will take less than six months for another chapter to pop up...MAYBE...haha but most likely. Love you guys!


	25. One Last Time

Being so close to his childhood home, South figured that while he was in Manhattan it would be a good time to tie up the loose ends with his family. He hadn't seen them in what seemed like ages, and having been explained the plan that Spot had hastily come up with, South figured that he might as well say goodbye.

Just after the sun had risen on Manhattan, South, Spot, and Jack Kelly had sat down, discussed, and plotted. Lady arrived unceremoniously some time during the boys' meeting and, after having Spot's sudden resurrection explained twice to her, was escorted by Mush to the girls' lodging house to sleep.

When Mush returned, he told Spot everything Lady had told him. "She doesn't know how bad she cut him," he explained after most of the story was told. "She ran right after." He paused. "He could be dead, you know."

"I know," Spot said. He turned to Jack. "Could you—"

"I'll send someone," Jack interrupted, knowing full well what Spot was going to ask. "Send Snoddy," he told Mush, who quickly left the room.

"…Who?" South asked.

"Exactly. Nobody in Brooklyn knows the guy. He'll ask around." Jack shifted in his seat. "Right then, back to business."

The plan was a simple one, and not very good. Spot was out of creative ideas. He just wanted things to be done and over with. The general idea was to walk into Brooklyn, hit Parker, and run like hell.

"It ain't gonna work," Jack argued. "You can't just expect to be welcomed back with open arms. They'll grab you, mess you up, and you'll be dead in a few hours."

Spot didn't say anything for a moment, then blinked. "I know. That's the idea." He paused. "Kind of." He glanced over at South. "You said you're in this, so you're gonna have to bear with me here."

South had a feeling this was going where it was going. "Fine."

"South goes back to Brooklyn, just waltzes across the bridge and goes right in, like he's gonna apologize or surrender or whatever. He gets as far as he can to the house before he's tagged, which should happen fairly quick-like. They'll take him back to Parker—assuming that rat's still breathing—and he'll tell 'em to rough him up. That'll distract anybody important for long enough for me to get in, find Parker, and bleed that son of a bitch."

Neither South nor Jack spoke when Spot was finishing explaining what could have been the Worst Plan Ever. But it didn't seem like anything else was going to work in the amount of time they had. Parker would know that both South and Lady would run to Manhattan, and although their affairs usually didn't concern Spot, he didn't want to bring anything into the borough that didn't need to be there—namely Michael Parker.

Jack was the one to speak, although he didn't look Spot in the eye but instead picked at his fingernails. "Okay, let me get this straight. You're gonna send in your best friend to get beat up and probably killed while you take care of Parker, then just walk right out of there? That's the best you can come up with?"

"Hey, I ain't hearing any complaints from him!" Spot glanced at South. "…Am I?"

South shook his head. A promise was a promise, and whether he liked it or not, he was going to do what Spot asked him to do without protest.

Shortly after the plan was made, the three agreed that South would leave Manhattan once Snoddy returned with news from Brooklyn. So until that time, he would see that his parents and sisters got a proper goodbye without much attention to the details.

Nathan Emanuel had always been a good guy to be around, and not just because his pockets were usually full of his father's money (he himself didn't use it often, but rather spent it on friends, or friends of friends, or complete strangers). As fun as the young man had been, he was finding that he had matured a great deal within the past month, which made sense. He figured, he's probably going to die pretty soon, so all that growing up he still had to do was just coming a lot quicker than he had expected, as unwelcome as that was.

See, that was the thing—South did not want to die. There had been a good handful of times when he would have been okay with ceasing to be, but at the moment it didn't seem like such a good idea.

He had a lot to do still. He had to go to school and become a lawyer (a future that was beginning to look more and more attractive as the days had passed), and find a pretty girl and marry her. He had to have babies and send them to school, inherit a good deal of money, and hang around for a good forty or fifty years. Getting taken out at seventeen wasn't the kind of death he had in mind.

But he was going to do it regardless. All he had left to do was visit his family's house—his house—just one last time.

* * *

I knoooooow I know this is really short, but I figured I've had it sitting around, waiting for another part to be written to add to the chapter, but I thought oh well, I'll just post it now!

And MUCH THANKS to x4xBaByBrOwNeYeSx0x, Missa32189, xoborogrlxo, Cakes, HogwartsNewsie92, and Buttons for your reviews! Choco-covered newsies all around for you!!

Soon, a longer update/end of the story...SOON! I promise (maybe)...we'll see! Review, friends!


	26. Oh

Michael Parker awoke within a few hours of losing consciousness. Chase was the only other person in the room, sitting on a nearby chair. In his hands was a single piece of paper, and on that paper, a single line of words hastily written:

_South. In Chicago. Coming back to Brooklyn. Sorry. I'll explain._

Written just beneath that,_ Spot._

It was obviously composed very quickly and without much though. The signature was undoubtedly authentic, with a hole punched in the paper by the tip of the pencil on the top of the S by accident. Chase had read the words over and again over a dozen times. Each time his eyes scanned that one line, that scratchy, nigh on illegible text, his stomach jumped.

He knew Spot was never dead in the first place. There were a handful of boys who knew, and they were told to keep their traps firmly shut about it on pain of death. It didn't occur to any of them that Spot Conlon would return to Brooklyn. Nobody thought he'd ever leave in the first place, so his departure had a lot more depth than just a quick vacation and a timely return.

So what to do?

Parker had been staring at the ceiling for a few minutes. Chase didn't even notice he was awake. His eyes darted around the various cracks and imperfections, allowing time for his body to build up the capacity to speak.

"Where's Lady?"

They were the first words Chase had heard in nearly an hour, so naturally he was a bit startled. He cleared his throat and folded the letter. "Manhattan," he said, "probably. I sent a guy to follow her, and South."

"And?"

"He ain't back yet."

"Fire?"

"Dead. Don't worry about it."

"Fine." Parker was just then noticing his lack of clothing from the waist up, and the bandages tightly coiled around his midsection. A dull throbbing of pain was coming from both where Lady had cut him and where he'd hit his head when he passed out, but he didn't pay either much attention. He felt all right. "So what's on the paper, then?"

Chase knew Parker would have to know sooner or later, but still, he had no desire to tell him. So instead, he stood and walked the letter over to Michael. "Read it yourself."

_South. In Chicago. Coming back to Brooklyn. Sorry. I'll explain._

_Spot._

"Oh," Parker remarked simply. "Fuck."

* * *

Kate Fox had always been a plain girl. She'd known that since she was a child. Nobody ever told her so, but she didn't need to hear it anyway. That was fine, though. A nice face wouldn't have gotten her much further in the world than she already was. 

And so when Spot Conlon fell in love with her, Kate panicked.

She didn't mind it at first. It was actually kind of nice to be told such pretty things. After a while, however, it all seemed too hurried to her, too wrong.

Years from now Kate will tell her second husband about Spot, about their time together and the abrupt end to their relationship. "So you left him?" he'll ask. "You faked sickness and then you just…up and left?"

"What else was I supposed to do?" she'll reply. "He was in love with something else entirely. More of an idea, really. Justice and revenge and…and Brooklyn. I had to get out." She'll pause. "It was a good thing. There was nothing better I could have done for him, because I guess he went back and did the things he wanted to do."

"But it got him killed, didn't it? He's dead?"

"Yes. Yes, he's dead." Kate Fox has never and will never shed a tear for Spot Conlon.

* * *

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been…" Spot trailed off. He couldn't remember the last time he'd confessed. He continued, though, "…a while since my last confession." 

"And I thought nothing of it," Father Dietrich replied. "Word was that you'd been killed."

Spot couldn't help but smile. "You believed that?"

Neither could the priest. "No, not really. Confess your sins, my son."

"The usuals, Father, but that ain't why I came today. I figured I might as well come now because I probably ain't gonna be able to tomorrow. Or whenever, 'cause I don't know if I'm gonna get out of this one. I'm gonna kill a guy."

"Spot—"

"No, I ain't gonna hear it from you, and I don't wanna hear it from God, 'cause I ain't sorry about it. I just…I thought you should know that. I ain't one to sin and not think about it, 'cause I do, Father, I do think about it. And maybe that's even worse. I donno, maybe it'd be better to not even know you're doin' wrong when you're doin' wrong, but to me it's better to know, 'cause then you know and you can repent for it. But you gotta know, Father, that I'm gonna kill this guy and I don't feel bad about it."

Spot was lying to himself, of course. He figured if he believed he was doing no wrong, then Hell could piss off.

"That doesn't make it right—"

"Right and wrong ain't in the picture anymore! I've put this off for too long and let it sit and get worse when I should have dealt with it months ago. So…you've known me longer than anybody else in the world—"

"Longer than your father, Spot?"

Spot didn't usually think of William Conlon, so he was taken aback for just a moment. "My father doesn't need to know about it," he said after a brief pause. "I'd rather he not."

"So then you do feel bad about this premeditated murder. Then by your own logic, you're going to commit a pretty big sin."

"It ain't that I feel bad about it, 'cause believe me, I don't. I've said it lots of times and I'll say it lots more." Another pause. "My dad's a good man. He'd think it was wrong. He doesn't deserve to know that his son's been alive all this time and is a murderer."

There was silence between the two men. Spot didn't have anything left to say. But for the first time in a long time, he missed his father. He missed his mother.

Father Dietrich finally broke the silence. "You know, I should turn you in to the police."

"Yeah, I know."

"I'm not going to."

Spot smiled again. "Yeah, I know."

There was nothing else the priest could say to Spot. He knew he wouldn't be able to change his mind. "Go in peace then, Spot."

Spot left the confessional, but he didn't leave the church just yet. He found his way to a pew and immediately knelt down. Spot clasped his hands together tightly in front of his face and prayed. He prayed hard for mercy and guidance, for strength and forgiveness. Never in his life had he asked God for so much, or regretted his future actions as much as he did.

He left the church after some time, his eyes bloodshot and wet spots on the front of his shirt.

He was ready.

* * *

Whoah. Another update so soon? This is madness, I tell you! Madness! 

But hey, where are the reviews? Come on, people. I know you're reading. Drop me a line and say so and we can be super best friends forever! Or I'll just be really happy and inspired to write more. One of the two.

So special thank-yous to Cakes, xborogrlxo, FM, and The Mayor's Daughter for your reviews. They really do mean a lot, and they're definitely what keep me going. No lie!

REVIEW! Pleeeeease? Rock!


	27. Don't Pass Out

The metallic tang of blood in his mouth was enough to clear South's head for a few moments before he looked up just in time to see another fist coming towards him at an unusually slow speed.

Wait a moment. What's happening?

Oh. South made the realization just as his nose came one step closer to cracking. He wasn't being punched slowly, he was just very disoriented.

He spat. Blood and saliva didn't make it as far as he'd anticipated, though some did land on the floor. The rest remained on his chin. South swept his sleeve across his mouth just before he was grabbed by the collar.

"Had enough, South?"

A slight laugh escaped South's lips. "Parker?" he coughed out, then regained his speech. "You're actually getting your hands dirty for a change?"

Michael Parker dropped South, who coughed once again and made no attempt to get up. Even if he wanted to scram, he couldn't have gotten very far. A few knocks to the head and a broken wrist can set a guy back quite a bit. South didn't mind, however. He was in deep and he knew it. Nevertheless, the knowledge of his position didn't take the sting away from the situation as much as he'd hoped.

Less than an hour earlier, South had practically strolled into Brooklyn and was immediately picked up. A short while after that he was brought to Parker, who, upon asking why he'd come back, received a quick "Fuck off" from South. The rest rolled quickly downhill from there.

"It's suspicious," Parker said after a few moments. South had managed a sitting position and recovered some of his wits. "You came alone, and so quietly. Part of a plan, I take it.""I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't you bullshit me, South." He took in a few deep breaths and discreetly placed a hand on where he had been stabbed earlier. Parker silently reminded himself to take it easy. He knew his own physical limits would be lowered after the injury he'd received, and the last thing he wanted was to pass out before he knew what was going on. "So he's coming back, I take it?" Parker continued after a few moments.

"Who's coming back?" South knew that Parker knew, and Parker knew that South knew that he knew. There was a trait of knowledge going on that was just bewildering.

"Your friend and mine, Spot Conlon," Parker replied. "Got a letter just today informing you of it. I took the liberty of reading it, seeing as how you were absent."

"That so?" South swallowed. He felt as though he was going to vomit; he had swallowed a fair amount of blood and it was beginning to make him sick. "You're too kind."

Parker was beginning to feel fatigued a lot more than he had been just moments ago. He leaned against the wall for support, his expression and tone not daring to betray his physical state. "Naturally I'm surprised he hasn't shown up yet," he said to South, who was still on his knees in the middle of the room and hunched over. His good palm supported his weight on the floor, and he clutched his broken wrist to his stomach. "Mind telling me why?"

South didn't reply. It wasn't that he didn't have anything to say. On the contrary, he had plenty of material to stall Parker for as long as he possibly could. The goal was to give Spot time to get back to Brooklyn undetected, and judging by the number of boys South had seen gather outside the building and the ones that were in the room, it wasn't going to be that difficult. Even so, he couldn't speak. The floor was spinning underneath him.

_Don't pass out_, he told himself repeatedly. _Don't pass out don't pass out don't pass out don't pass out--_

A kick to the ribs knocked the breath out of South's lungs. He gasped, then shut his eyes tightly and clenched his teeth. Parker was on the opposite side of the room than where the kick had come from, which South rightfully interpreted as Parker being done playing games.

"I like you, South," Parker said, still leaned up against the wall. "So I'm gonna give you the opportunity to decide for yourself how the rest of the night's going to go."

Two pairs of hands pulled South up by his arms, though he still stayed on his knees. He brought his eyes up to meet Parker's. "Kind of you," he managed.

Parker said nothing for a few seconds. He then looked somewhere past South and nodded, as if giving permission to someone for something. South was pulled up onto his feet, and he knew at that what was going to come.

_Just don't pass out_, he reminded himself, and prepared to take the beating of a lifetime.


End file.
